A Second Chance
by Roscommon
Summary: Seven years after she left Trenton due to family tragedy, Stephanie Plum has learned to stand on her own and has built a life and career. Unexpectedly, she encounters Ranger, who has also gone through changes since they were last together. While helping Ranger to clear his name, can she show him how to have a second chance at friendship or more? (Angst, Romance)
1. Ch 1: Out of the Blue

Wonder Woman was infatuated with Batman; Henry Higgins kept Eliza guessing. After a few miles down the bumpy road of life, what do Stephanie Plum and Ricardo Mañoso need and want? This story probably takes place after book 20, but with minimal spoilers. As you may guess from the summary, there is angst, yet also love.

Many thanks to jbspencer06, who has kindly helped me fix some confusions and omissions. Any errors that remain are mine alone.

I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to J.E. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes.

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**_A SECOND CHANCE_**

**Chapter 1: Out of the Blue**

Stephanie stood up and wiped her hands on the plaid hand towel while she looked for her phone. She could tell from the ringtone that it was Joe Morelli, which was a bit confusing. He had called to check in last week, the day after Halloween. So, she wasn't expecting to hear from him again, this soon.

Of course, she still appreciated that he checked up on her. And she'd come to really value their re-built friendship over the past seven years, but they both had their own lives. There wasn't a Rangers or Bruins game this evening. So she couldn't think of an obvious reason for him to be calling after 9pm on a Friday night.

Finally spotting the phone underneath a pile of homework on the table, she grabbed it and answered. "Hello Joe. What's up?"

"Hi Steph, sorry to call so late. Hope this is an okay time." She could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn't an emergency, so she breathed out a quick sigh of relief.

"Sure, Joe. You know you can call any time. Are you looking for tips on how to hide the Halloween candy from Angelina so she stops climbing the walls?" She heard him chuckle. His daughter Angelina was almost four years old and had apparently taken the neighborhood by storm in her Disney princess costume. As Joe's wife Amanda described it, Angelina had amassed enough candy to stay awake for the next two years straight.

"No, but I'll take any tips you might have," he chuckled again. "Though, if I remember right, you used to hide your candy all over the house so nobody else could find it. So probably I shouldn't let you talk to Angelina for about four months."

She laughed at that. "Okay, I promise I won't say a word. But, I think it might be a Plum family genetic thing, so we'll all have to be kept incommunicado. Ever since the girls came to live with me seven years ago, I can't tell you how many times I found Halloween candy stashed behind the DVDs or in shoes. Not to mention Mary Alice's Easter candy, which I found under the sofa cushions in August one time."

"Hey! I heard that." Mary Alice called out from the dining room. "That was a long time ago."

Stephanie could hear Joe chuckle again. "Steph, if you guys had stayed in the Burg, I'd be really worried right about now. Just the fact that you're in Boston, still on the East Coast, makes me sweat sometimes." Steph saw Mary Alice in the kitchen doorway making a face. As Stephanie rolled her eyes in return, Mary Alice smiled and mouthed "Entenmann's" while pointing at the bottom oven door.

Stephanie couldn't help but laugh, at which point Mary Alice nodded smugly and ducked out of the doorway. "Mary Alice just pointed out where I stashed my not-so-secret emergency crumb cake last weekend. So probably you shouldn't let Angelina hang out with any of us until she's at least through adolescence."

At that, Joe erupted into full-blown laughter. "Steph, I can't tell you how good it is that some things never change. I take it all back. Remind your dad that you're all welcome on Christmas Eve when you visit over the holidays."

"I will, Joe. And that's really nice of you to invite my whole entourage, along with my dad. He told me that he really appreciated that you invited him to poker night last week. He's happy living with his sister, but he does get lonely for 'guy time'."

"Happy to, Steph," he said. "But that's not why I called." He hesitated, then continued slowly. "I got an odd 'person of interest' text about an hour ago for Boston, and wanted to let you know."

"Okay, Joe. I'll be happy to check into it for you. I'm not back in the office until Monday, but I have my Boston PD laptop here. They finally figured out that, even though I'm in the Community Liaison department, if they give me the right tools I can usually find my own missing contacts without taking detective time."

Joe snorted on the other end of the phone. "Steph, you could find a missing person using a needle floating on water and a Romper Room mirror. Having the laptop just makes it faster. I'm glad my old buddy Ryan finally figured it out." He paused again. "This time, though, I'm not calling for your help."

"Okay, Joe, then you may as well stop tippy-toeing around it, and just tell me." As Stephanie spoke, she watched as Mary Alice shepherded her younger sisters, Lisa and Sarah, into the kitchen. "Wait Joe, hold that thought just a sec." Stephanie reached down and whispered "goodnight" while giving each girl a hug and a kiss.

Standing back up, she reached out to Mary Alice, who was Stephanie's height in stockinged feet. "Goodnight sweetie," she murmured while Mary Alice said she was going to be upstairs reading until bedtime. As they trooped out of the room in a chorus of "good-night"s, Stephanie brought the phone back up to talk.

"Okay Joe, I'm back."

"So, are you sitting down?"

She rolled her eyes, and then pulled out a chair from the table. "If this is a sitting-down conversation I have to assume that, somehow, one of my deviant cousins is involved."

"Not exactly, Steph." He paused and Stephanie could hear him take a breath. "The report I received through the priority channel is that a man named Ricardo Mañoso has been picked up on an unlicensed firearms charge outside of Mattapan in Boston." Stephanie gasped and gripped the edge of the kitchen table.

Joe continued, "I checked into it briefly, and I'm pretty sure it's Ranger. All they'll tell me is that he was passed-out, maybe drunk, in a stolen car. They're holding him for questioning on a gang shooting last night in Dorchester, since that particular car was identified at the scene of the shooting and at least one of the guns in the car is the same caliber as the murder weapon."

"Oh my God, Joe." Stephanie exhaled, "Can you do something about it?" Even as she asked that, she knew it was a stupid question. But, she didn't know what to say. It felt like she was suddenly lost in a confusing dream. She hadn't heard the name _Ranger _in at least six years. At least, not outside of her own thoughts.

"Steph, Boston is way out my Trenton jurisdiction. Besides, I'm personally fine if he's locked up somewhere for the long haul." He took a breath, and before she could object he added, "Whenever Ranger ghosts into town these days he's a major pain in the TPD's side. We can never pin anything on him. But, after he vanishes again, we either find a group of gang-bangers dead by the waterfront or some foreign businessman has disappeared."

He snorted. "And, of course, we have to clear up the mess and take the heat for another unsolved crime."

As Stephanie sat, still reeling, Joe added softly, "But, I know you considered him to be your friend. I knew you'd want to hear this." He paused again, and then continued, a grimace clear in his tone of voice, "And, Steph, I really hate to say this, but I have my doubts on this one. You should know that Ranger has gotten a rep for occasional drinking and bar-fights, maybe twice a year. But not carelessness. Never carelessness."

They both were silent, momentarily, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Stephanie spoke up, "Joe, you're right, I'm glad you told me."

"By the way, Steph, it sounds like bail is going to be high. He's suspected of murder, even if they don't get proof tonight. There were drugs found in the car; enough to charge him with intent to distribute if they can tie them to him. And, he's a thorn in the BPD's side, too. We all want to hold him for questioning, for some reason or another."

She paused, drawing a pattern on the top of the kitchen table. "Do you know... does he still have anyone in Trenton?" She nibbled her lower lip, waiting for his answer.

"Not that I know of. When he sold his interest in Rangeman and they moved operations to Baltimore, like five or six years ago, I stopped seeing most of the guys I recognized. Obviously Hal McGuinnest works for us, now, but I asked him a few years ago and he said that Ranger never contacts him. And I don't think Ranger stayed close to that guy Cary Ramsfield—I think you called him Ram—since Ramsfield joined the DEA."

"But, you still see Ranger sometimes in Trenton?" She continued drawing a pattern on the table, not sure why she wanted to know.

"Yeah, a few times a year. But, never for long. As best we can tell, he must be based in New York somewhere. He comes here, he goes to Newark, he goes to Philadelphia, but always seems to disappear back across the Hudson. Who knows; maybe he lives in a tunnel or an abandoned tanker. We have no idea."

"Okay, well, I'm not sure it matters anyway." She stood up from the table. "But, thanks for calling me about this, Joe, I really appreciate it. A lot."

"No problem, Steph. Keep safe."

As they ended the call, Stephanie turned to the fridge, kissed her finger, and then touched a picture of Angie sitting in her Wellesley dorm room, adding another fingerprint smudge to the plastic sleeve holding the photo. "Good night, honey."

Since Angie had left for college on her scholarship last year, this had become an evening ritual that always made Stephanie feel better, no matter what had happened during the day. It reminded her, every night, that even the most challenging situations could work out. That every day was a new chance to reach out and make things better. That help could come from unexpected sources, just when you needed it.

Because, of all the girls, Angie had taken all the changes the hardest. The eldest of Val's four daughters, Angie was thirteen-going-on-thirty when both Val and Albert had died in the car crash that had changed all of their lives. And, she had rebelled hard. Thank God that Albert's family had stepped in, offering Stephanie this house to live in, along with day-to-day support for her sudden role as mother of four.

Angie, though, had gone from fury to silence when Stephanie had picked them up and moved them all to Boston. Albert's mother, a retired school counselor, had finally given Stephanie the key. She told Stephanie to close her eyes and listen with her ears and her heart, instead of watching Angie's stony face.

More practically, she enrolled them in a mother/daughter cooking class. It was an immense relief as Angie slowly made her peace over the learned, nightly ritual of cooking family dinners together. Stephanie eventually understood that Angie had needed to feel like one of the family's caretakers. Living with Val and Albert, she guessed it wasn't surprising that Angie had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.

After that rocky start, Stephanie still cherished the day, a year later, that Angie came into her bedroom and said that the girls all wanted to change their last name to Plum. To Stephanie's surprise, the Kloughns had agreed that the girls should all finally have the same last name, and that Plum was a fine one.

Now Angie Plum was a successful college student, Mary Alice Plum was a high-school senior with a scholarship offer at U-Mass, while Lisa and Sarah Plum were flourishing in grade school. As she walked into the livingroom, Stephanie reflected that, overcoming misfortune, they had built a pretty good life together.

Then she sighed, putting that memory aside for a moment while she logged into her BPD laptop. After poking around, she found the station where Ranger was being held. She couldn't get any details, but managed to find out that he was being kept at least overnight. And she tracked down the senior officer on site, Detective Breyer, to get his approval to see Ranger as the night's interrogation was winding down.

After letting Mary Alice know she had to head out for a couple hours, Stephanie put on her heavy coat, picked up her purse, and went downstairs. She saw a light under the door of the first floor tenant, Mrs. Arshad, so also let her know. None of them were particularly surprised. Though it wasn't a regular occurrence, Stephanie's job as a community liaison for the BPD sometimes called her out at odd hours. Stephanie mused that this would be more challenging after Mary Alice started college. Something to think about.

Stepping outside, she pulled her coat tighter. This week they'd had a cold snap, reminding them all that it was November and time for winter. She could see her breath puffing in front of her in the cold, as she unlocked the car. While visualizing what a car-care fairy might look like, if she ever found one, she made a mental note to pull the shovel and snow gear out of the garage this weekend, and have the tire inflation checked. She wondered if there were any snow-shoveling elves living with the car-care fairies.

As she started the car, a very used Subaru Tribeca SUV, cold air started gusting through the heating vents and the CD player started up. She remembered, with a rueful smile, her dad telling her she should always turn them off before shutting down the car. "Yes dad," she thought, "and I should buy an American car and I should get it washed and detailed monthly."

Chuckling to herself, she turned off the fan, to give the car a chance to run for awhile so the heat could work, but left the music on. Humming absent-mindedly along with the CD, she drove down the somewhat unfamiliar roads to get to the Mattapan/Dorchester station. Suddenly, she realized that this was the "It Will Rain" song on the CD that she always fast-forwarded over.

She reached forward and skipped to the next one. Mary Alice had made this compilation CD for her, with songs from Bruno Mars, CeeLo, and Lionel Richie. However, this one song could still make her cry if she thought about it too deeply, and it's never good to go into work with running mascara.

She pulled into the employee lot, tapping her parking card to raise the gate. Looking around, she got out of the car, hitched her purse onto her shoulder, and made her way into the back entrance of the station.

As she walked down the hall to the prisoner holding wing, she spotted a number of officers she recognized. For a moment she was confused that it was so busy after 10pm, but then remembered it was Friday night. As her boss liked to say, "Friday night: The engraved invitation to the weekend drunk tank."

She stopped at the check-in desk, saying "I'm here to see Ricardo Mañoso; Breyer okayed it via email," as she pushed her ID under the transom in the bulletproof glass window. The admitting officer, Joe O'Reilly, checked his screen, then stacked and pushed the paperwork back through the transom. "You know the drill, Plum. Sign and return."

She started filling in the reason for her visit and, with sweaty hands, signed the various forms. She'd done this dozens of times before, but this time it felt like she was watching herself from outside. Then, as she looked at the admitting mug shots to confirm she was visiting the right prisoner, it felt like all the air had escaped the room.

Ranger.

After seven years, his face still stopped time for her. Front and side views—with a number—it was so incongruous. But, it was him. A bit disheveled, a bit roughed up. More than a five-o'clock shadow grizzling his face. But, yet... it was him. She stood, transfixed, staring at his eyes, which glared from the photo with all the dark intelligence she remembered, yet none of the humor.

She was interrupted in her thoughts by O'Reilly, on the other side of the glass. "Plum, you know that asshole?" She watched as he put down his mug of coffee. Stephanie knew that O'Reilly basically chugged coffee for his full shift to stay sharp. A few years from retirement, he was a fixture at this station. She mused idly that he was somewhat like the old-fashioned vending machine over against the far wall. She focused on his coffee, filled with milk and sugar, as though it held the answer on how to proceed as if this were all normal.

Apparently unaware of her state of confusion, O'Reilly continued, "Heck, Plum, you're the reigning champ at getting juvies to confess to misdemeanors, so as we can get them into halfway house programs and off the streets." He stopped, brushing his hand across his bottle-brush crew cut. "But if you can get that stone-faced banger to confess, the whole department will take you to Union Oyster House."

She grimaced, handing over the final signed form and her ID through the transit in the glass. "Ugh, no need." She'd tried raw oysters before, and once truly was enough. He buzzed her in, and she handed over her coat, purse and car-keys, and stood to be frisked and wanded. She mumbled to herself, "Sheesh, when did I become one of the guys? Oysters? Anyhow, I'm more of a Bella Luna or House of Pizza kind of gal."

She realized that her inner dialog tonight was just a way to distract herself. To keep from thinking about who was on the other side of the closed interrogation-room door that the duty officer was unlocking. As the door swung open with a slight squeak, she stood for a moment in the doorway, steeled herself, and then walked in the room.

She felt it immediately: The tingle that raced along the back of her neck whenever she had felt him near. "Ranger, it _is_ you." She stopped again, in wonder, as Ranger looked up. Still exuding the grace and power of a wild panther, even wearing an orange jumpsuit and with his arms shackled to the steel crossbar on the table. She saw something glimmer in his eyes, like a spark that leapt across the void of the room.

She paused for a beat, just feeling herself breathe, watching his beautiful, complex, dangerous face. Seeing her missing friend peering from his brown, intense eyes. Then, his lips lifted slightly in an ironic smile she knew so well. Stunned, she suddenly wondered why she had never before seen that this particular smile was a mask. If she ignored it and looked only at his eyes, they were anything but expressionless.

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he got his eyes under control and nodded at her. "Steph. It's been awhile," he paused, his eyes again momentarily at odds with his world-weary, knowing expression.

He raised one eyebrow, his barely-there smile intact. "Come to gloat?"

_To be continued…_

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_Author's Note: This is my first intentional multi-chapter story. My goal is to post about once a week, real-life permitting, and I intend to finish. Your comments will be oh-so helpful in pushing me forward so that, together, we can get Ranger and Stephanie back on track…._

_PS: If Val has has a named fourth daughter in the JE books, please send me a PM and I'll update this and other chapters going forward. I've scanned, but couldn't find one, so she'll remain Sarah for now._


	2. Ch2: Out of the Cold

_Thanks to everyone for the reviews on Chapter 1. You rock my world, and motivate the heck out of me. I apologize if I haven't replied to your comments yet, but I intend to. Life is busy... For those of you who replied as guests, please know that I truly appreciate your comments and the time you took to make them. _

_Thanks again to jbspencer06, who has been kind enough to read initial drafts and spot small yet important details to help the story. Any issues that remain are mine alone._

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

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**Chapter 2: Out of the Cold**

Ranger looked up when he heard the interrogation room door opening yet again. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating. He had assumed it was another investigator coming to ask him hard-nosed questions he couldn't answer. But it wasn't.

When she stood back-lit in the doorway he wasn't sure. But when she started to speak there was nobody else she could be. Stephanie.

He felt a sudden rush of unexpected, conflicting emotions. When he'd known her, she'd been his ray of sunshine in a dark life. She'd smelled like life, like hope. And while she'd exuded innocence, she was comfortable with swindlers, thugs, whores, and bag ladies. She'd made him laugh, which was a rare thing. And, another rare thing: She was completely unpredictable.

Her hair still had a mad vitality, even in the harsh light. Her shape was a bit fuller, but she was still the slim feminine presence that he remembered. She smelled like Stephanie. He remembered how that scent had lingered in his apartment, a thin essence evoking temptation and anger, long after he discovered that she'd left him completely.

Christ, just looking at her he could feel his crotch starting to salute. After all these years he was a goddamn Pavlov's dog. It wasn't like he'd been celibate since she ran away from Trenton. Hell, he might have slowed down a bit while she'd ping-ponged back and forth between him and the cop, but even then he hadn't waited around like some lovesick teenager for her to get her shit straight. And then she'd left.

But now, fuck it. All these years, ditched and presumably supplanted, his body still rose to her. As he schooled his expression, he pondered that the rumor was actually true, that she was in Boston. And, he couldn't help but wonder: Why the hell was she here?

He felt his lips twitch in an ironic smile, "Steph," he paused, while watching her reaction. "It's been awhile." He couldn't interpret her expression. He reflected sourly that she'd chosen tonight as the first time to see him in years. She'd waited until he was filthy, shackled in jail. Perhaps that evened the playing field for her. Maybe she could finally feel better than him. "Come to gloat?" he asked, following that line of thought.

She stood for a moment and then walked into the room. Pulling out the metal chair across from him with a scrape against the floor, she sat down and looked at him. Her eyes were still as startlingly blue as ever. Her expressive face reflected a shy surprise, but not shock. No disdain. Well, he could play this out to see where it went.

"No, Ranger," she answered simply. "When did I ever gloat at your misfortune?" She paused briefly. Then, when he just kept staring at her, she continued, "I came to see if it was true that you were here and if there's anything I can do to help."

"Not unless you brought me a lockpick."

She smiled briefly at that. "Ranger, I work for the Boston PD, which is why I was able to come in to see you tonight. Lockpicks really aren't standard issue."

Frowning slightly, he asked, "You're a cop, now?" At that, she laughed, but he could immediately tell that she wasn't mocking him. Well, it was an amusing thought. Though she was more than handy with a stun gun—and a frighteningly good shot with a real gun when backed into a corner—she was truly squeamish around guns and blood. Despite himself, he mused that she did look good with handcuffs on her belt.

"No, Ranger, I'm a community liaison. I try to help keep the officers on friendly terms with the neighborhoods, and to keep people out of jail in the first place."

"So, why are you here?" He slouched back as far as he could, stretching the shackles. "You're a bit late to keep me out of jail."

Still calm, she answered, "I told you, Ranger. I came to see if there's anything I can do to help. The story I heard about your capture doesn't sound right, so I wonder if there's anything you need me to check."

Once again, he was left speechless by this woman. For the past five hours he'd been saying that he'd been framed. No amount of logic or alternative scenarios had swayed the parade of increasingly skeptical detectives. And he was not at liberty to disclose his employer.

Unbidden, he had sudden memories of the times he'd called upon her for help, in the past. When framed for murder, when his business was hacked, and when other less-visible events happened and he simply needed her distraction to wash away the darkness from his soul. He'd carefully packed away those memories and frankly had begun to doubt them.

Yet, here Stephanie sat, looking at him with certainty in her vivid eyes, telling him that she immediately understood that the setup was all wrong. Offering help because she had it to give. He took a deep breath and decided to take a leap of faith. After all, he'd told his story to several people already, this evening. Stephanie actually might listen.

"You're right, Steph, I was set up." He looked at her, challenging, but she just nodded at him to continue. "I've been chasing this guy, Mateus Figueroa, from state-to-state for almost two months. It started as a request to track down a man for a custody kidnapping. The police weren't inclined to pursue him due to jurisdictional issues. But, it just doesn't track."

He shook his head, reviewing the situation in his mind. "Why would a Brazilian on an expired green card travel from Galveston Texas to Puerto Rico to kidnap his sons from school, and then go to Portland, Maine, of all places? And then go to Fall River? And then to Boston?" As he spoke, she scooted forward on her chair, obviously interested.

He continued, "I keep asking myself: Why not just hop a fishing boat from the west coast of Puerto Rico to the Dominican Republic, where he could've made his way to Brazil any number of ways?" He took a breath and leaned forward. "Outside of the U.S. we'd have the devil's own time trying to get custody of the kids in any legal way. Since the divorced wife is technically an Algerian citizen and the boys were born outside the U.S. it's not even clear that the U.S. would have jurisdiction."

As he paused, she nodded at him. "Yeah, Ranger, I see what you mean. If it were me, my first priority would be to go somewhere where nobody could get me or the kids. So, his travel isn't about sheltering his kids from the system." He nodded, glad she understood.

Then she took it to the next step, surprising him yet again. "Ranger, he took his kids for a different reason. It's like he's keeping his assets close while he does his business."

He leaned forward over the table, looking directly into her eyes. "Yeah, Steph, it's exactly like that. I'm concerned because, while I've been chasing this guy, I've run into a couple of similar stories of people with expired green cards or student visas suddenly vanishing with one-or-more family members. I've raised flags where I can, but now I'm out of commission." He shrugged his hands, pulling against the restraining bar with a clank of his shackles.

He could see her thinking about what he'd said, and could practically see the smoke coming from her ears. Finally she looked back up at him. "Ranger, do you have any notes or paperwork? I could look in online for links or other trails to follow. If we find this guy, we probably find who put you in that stolen car and can clear you."

"Unfortunately, all my stuff was in my truck when I went into that neighborhood bodega, which is where I must have gotten nabbed." He grimaced at having made such a rookie mistake. Maybe it was time to re-think his recent habit of working without backup.

It had been a liberating feeling, being back on his own the past several years. Working with people he hired for the job, he could also be free of them when needed. He had truly chafed at working within the rigid backup system that he and Tank had created at Rangeman. In fact, that was part of why he'd eventually sold his interest in the company. It felt too much like the Army, with all the constraints of working in chain-of-command and needing to document variances from operating procedures.

He preferred freelancing, and frankly the associated adrenaline rush. He could use his intuition and speed to their best advantage. But, his backup on his past few jobs had been sketchy, leading to an unnecessary shoot-out on the prior job, and now his arrest on this one. Christ. Well, better to deal with the cold hard facts.

Steph was nodding at him, so he made himself add in a matter-of-fact voice, "My wallet and keys were missing when I was picked up, and of course the writ of fugitive apprehension and my BEA license are missing, too."

He shook his head. If he weren't in lockup with strong circumstantial evidence pointing to a murder charge, his lack of wallet and credentials wouldn't stop him. But, unless he wanted to be on the run for the next forty years, he needed to deal with the current charges. What a fuck-up.

While he reviewed his situation, Stephanie was also clearly thinking. "Ranger, where was this bodega? And why did you go inside?" He looked up at her. She had a gift for asking the right questions.

"I'd gotten a lead that Figueroa had been seen there, and I saw someone who looked like him through the window. Of course, now I figure that the lead was planted." She nodded at him to continue. "It was some little cross street off Harvard Avenue in Allston."

She snorted. "Figures you lost him in Allston." She apparently saw his suddenly icy glare. "Oh, don't worry Ranger. That's a great neighborhood for misplacing multi-cultural perps. You're not the first, by any means." She pulled out her phone while still talking, and started to type. "Tell me the names of the people I should look for, or places like that bodega that might be of interest."

"Steph, can you do that without getting into trouble?" He felt a flash of gratitude for the offer of help, but he remembered that Stephanie would unconsciously cross boundaries and endanger herself to help people. Despite their past, or maybe because of it, he didn't want to give her another reason to resent him.

"Yeah, Ranger." She looked up at him and smiled briefly. "I have a bit of a reputation for double-checking stuff that got people in lock-up. So the department has made sure I know how to help my clients without giving them alibis, or a hit list. And without making myself a target." She smiled again briefly, and finger-waved over her shoulder. "Besides, I'm sure they're watching us. If I were crossing the line they'd come in the room."

He nodded, his lips twitching into a brief smile in reply. Then, back to business, he began reeling off several names and locations from memory, helping her with spelling as she typed.

As she finished, she looked back up at him. "So, Ranger, I have about ten minutes more. If I bail you out, are you going to run?"

He raised his eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "No need, Steph. I'm here until tomorrow morning, but Les Sebring knows a bail bondsman in the area who will come by then." Ranger decided not to tell her that Sebring's colleague had actually already been at the station an hour ago and ran into a couple of obstacles to bailing him out. He was guardedly hopeful for the morning.

"Okay, is there anything else?"

He thought about it, but really there was only one thing he wanted to ask. Now that he finally had the chance, he figured he might as well. Steeling himself, he stared at her, his face blank. "Only one thing. Why are you here?"

She stared at him in what looked like confusion, then concern. Just when he'd decided she wouldn't answer at all, she blurted, "Jeez, did you get a concussion or something? I found out you were in jail and I wanted to see if you needed anything. Maybe I should call a doctor."

"No, I mean, why are you in Boston instead of Trenton?"

"Oh," she paused. "It's complicated." She settled back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Do you really want to know?" She looked at him a bit belligerently. At his single, affirmative nod, she took a breath and continued.

"Where to start? Well… since you were out of town, incommunicado for like a year when it happened, I don't know what you heard. But, pretty much, it was one of those things where everything bad happens at once. The main thing is that Val and Albert were killed in a car crash, which is when we found out they'd named me as the sole guardian for all four of their daughters. Why my sister thought that was a good idea, I'll never know because I can't ask her."

She shook her head, took a breath and continued, "Anyway, I didn't know what to do. Val's house was a rental. They could barely afford it, and I certainly couldn't. I mean, it was okay to live hand-to-mouth when it was just me, but suddenly I had four kids depending on me and my income. One was just a baby. And you know my relatives; they weren't very helpful."

With a small, uncharacteristically ironic smile, she added, "Out of all my cousins, only Vinnie actually offered practical help, though it was so dodgy I took a pass. Mary Lou and Joe were really the people who helped day-to-day, but they had their own family obligations. I couldn't take advantage of that forever. Lula was an amazing help while she was around, but she'd taken that out-of-town job so couldn't stay. And my dad… well, my dad tried to help, but honestly he was a basket case for awhile."

Stephanie looked up, her eyes momentarily unguarded. "You probably don't know this either. My mom had a massive heart attack a couple of months after Val was gone. Hypertension, stress… it was like the final blow and it took awhile for dad to rebound. In fact, he lived with us for almost two years before he was ready to get back on his feet."

As she paused, Ranger wasn't sure he wanted her to continue. It was mind-boggling to hear what she had gone through, and to realize he hadn't really known any of it. In his mind, sitting here, he still called her "Babe" after all this time. How the fuck had he not known this? He'd been away from Trenton for a year while all this happened; not a lifetime.

It was damned sloppy. It was almost six years ago, but he still remembered returning to Trenton, back from his CIA gig and feeling full of himself. On his first and only visit to Vinnie's bonds office, Connie told him that Joe had recently married someone else and that Stephanie had left town. He'd just assumed those events were related, and angrily concluded that she'd rather leave Trenton than have only Ranger in her life, with nobody to whom she could flee.

He'd asked Tank if he knew what happened to Stephanie, but Tank just shrugged and said she'd moved. Yeah, Ranger had thought, "no price" and so no obligations either. After all, he'd left town for a year to get a fresh perspective. Well then, she'd left for good, for her own reasons. Ranger told Tank to have Binkie continue picking up the skip paperwork; Ranger was out of that duty for good. No reason to put up with Vinnie just to hang out with Connie and her goddamn nail polish.

So, he'd gotten drunk a couple of times, thrown himself back into his work, and then eventually sold his interest in Rangeman when he'd realized that the "work" wasn't giving him any reasons to stay. But, what he hadn't done was any independent investigation of Stephanie's situation. He had come back to Trenton to reclaim his life. She was out of his life; case closed. It had seemed so logical, so "over it all" and goddamn mature.

He'd separately heard that Stephanie's sister had died but he hadn't related that to her leaving town. He hadn't even heard about her mother. Disgusted with his carelessness, with that many loose ends, he began to suspect he hadn't been quite as refreshed by his year's absence from Trenton as he'd imagined.

And, in retrospect it was no surprise that he hadn't gotten any of this from his guys at Rangeman. They probably hadn't even paid attention to her in his year-long absence. She'd amused them all, but she never stayed around Rangeman long enough to become one of the team. And frankly, Ranger knew she was considered the boss's special piece of ass.

Oh, she was funny and kind. But, he'd heard their complaints too. Stephanie was a thorn in Tank's staffing rotation, the reason for Bobby to restock his medical supplies faster than usual, and the cause for Lester having to pick up last-minute assignments when Ranger went AWOL on Stephanie-watch. Her main saving grace was proving that kids had robbed their accounts, though he'd heard the rumble that the owner of a security company should have figured it out if he'd been paying attention to his own company.

All of which probably meant that Stephanie had ratcheted immediately to the bottom of their list of concerns when he'd told them, before he'd left, that he was backing away from her. That he wasn't willing anymore to pay the ever-increasing price for always rescuing another man's woman. And that as long as he was in town, he'd keep trying.

With that, he had signed up for the CIA project that would take him away, out of contact for over a year. He felt a pulse of fury run through him, and then realized the whole mess was nobody's fault but his own.

Meanwhile, Stephanie had resumed talking, her voice still calm but with a challenging edge. "So anyway, that's when Albert's parents swooped in and offered to let me have Mrs. Kloughn's old family home, a three-decker here in Boston, which they'd been renting-out. We live in the top apartment. It's actually in Jamaica Plain and really close to where they live, now that they're retired. So Mrs. Kloughn helps with the girls after school and on weekends."

She uncrossed her arms, settling her elbows on her thighs. As she loosely laced her fingers together, she added, "They wanted to be active in Lisa's and Sarah's lives, since they were Albert's daughters, but also wanted all four girls to feel they were still a family."

She paused, and Ranger saw her shift in the metal chair. "I still wasn't going to move here, but then Joe came back from community outreach training. He'd brokered an interview for me with the Boston PD. A real job with a salary and benefits." Ranger heard the pride in her voice as she added, "I make enough that I have a savings account with actual money in it, and college funds for the girls."

As he watched, she shrugged slightly. Then, her chin came up, her shoulders relaxed, and her face cleared. It was the Stephanie Plum transformation. He'd seen it many times before and it never failed to amaze him how quickly she could re-set. Still trying to process everything she'd said, he was mesmerized.

After that brief pause, she looked back up at him, her blue eyes as clear as a child's. With an almost shy expression, she said, "But, Ranger, that's all old news. I almost never tell people because it sounds overwhelming when I relate it one event after another. People always get all freaked out, like it just happened yesterday. But it's almost seven years behind us, now."

She shrugged again, "And, you know I certainly wouldn't have chosen things to happen the way they did. Not at all. But, life is good now." A quick smile chased across her features as she added, "The girls are amazing; Angie's actually in college if you can believe that. Dad is back in Trenton to live near his brother and sisters—Boston was just too lonely for him all day long—and just last weekend he asked Ellie Cranshaw from his sister's canasta club for a date."

Ranger sat motionless watching Stephanie, evaluating the ways he'd let his emotions sideswipe his rational thought. That had always been his personal danger where Stephanie was involved. When she was in Trenton, he'd risked his life and his comrades' respect to keep her safe, despite his better judgment. After she'd left, he'd thought he was thinking clearly again. Apparently, though, he'd fooled himself into thinking that her absence was a reaction to him.

Well, time to be a goddamn man. "I'm sorry, Steph," he gazed into her eyes, attempting to keep his thoughts masked. She was a good guesser, and at the moment he wasn't inclined to share the confused thoughts he'd harbored. He was unaccustomed to discussing emotions. He'd rather get into a fistfight any day. But, he also knew a story like hers always cost the person telling it.

He shifted his gaze minutely to focus over her shoulder and added, "I didn't know you'd had it that rough." It felt like he was back in confession, as a child, and waiting to hear his penance.

So he was startled to hear her snort. "Ranger, one of these days you'll figure out that you can use the phone to keep in touch with people, rather than just for status and orders. Then you'll know what's going on in their lives." It was such a quick answer that he guessed she'd wanted to say that for a long time. Fair enough. He focused back on her, his face blank, not sure what he was going to see. He was confused when she laughed; an oddly melodic sound in the sterile room.

But then she added quietly, "And, if you ever do figure that out, maybe call me because you changed your phone number and I have no way to contact you. You sold your building in Trenton, so the only address I have for you is that stupid vacant lot." She tipped her head, a rueful look on her face. "And apparently the only way I can find you is if you're in jail."

At that, the door to the room clanged and the duty officer told them that time was up. Steph stood, and then apparently noticed the gauze and bandaging on his hands for the first time. "You're hurt," she said, a look of concern on her face as she reached down to touch one of Ranger's shackled hands. He felt her touch like an arc of static electricity that dashed from his hand, up his arm, and down his spine with a momentary shiver.

"It's nothing, Steph. Just bandages. They already took care of it."

She looked at him a moment longer, searching for something in his face. Finally, she lifted her hand. "I'll look at those names, Ranger, and let you know what I see." Then she paused and tilted her head, humor glinting from her eyes. "Unlike some people, I'm in the phonebook, so you can find me. And the BPD has me on speed-dial."

"Good to know, Steph." He knew that was an inadequate reply, but he wasn't sure what to say. He realized, though, that he felt a guarded optimism for the first time since he'd woken up in the stolen car. With no inflection to confuse his message, he stated, "Thank you," and looked at her directly.

"Of course Ranger," she smiled, patted the unbandaged part of his hand one more time and then turned to leave the room. Ranger watched the sway of her hips as she walked away, that timeless movement that embodied unconscious feminine grace. Stephanie's grace.

As the guards entered the room and unshackled him for the trip back to the cellblock, Ranger mused that he had never met anyone who could so completely turn his world upside down as Stephanie Plum.

_To be continued..._


	3. Ch3: All In

_Thanks again to all of the readers and reviewers of this story. I truly appreciate the time you've spent reading and commenting. Also thanks to jbspencer06, who helps me see the story more clearly, and whose enthusiasm is a powerful secret weapon in motivating writers (at least, this one)._

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

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**Chapter 3: All In**

As she left the interrogation room, Stephanie didn't know what she was feeling. Seeing Ranger shackled had hurt to the core, but seeing pain reflected in his eyes when he apologized was somehow worse. She had long-ago decided that they had both equally squandered opportunities to remain in touch, or even become closer.

As the final set of missed opportunities, she had been a fool for simply leaving her Boston address with that big guy, Tank, assuming that Ranger would be in touch. She could have at least written to Ranger while she still had his address; he might have responded.

At the same time though, if Ranger had wanted to know what was going on in her life, he had been a dope not to call. Her cellphone number hadn't changed. Joe, Mary Lou, Lula, even Connie knew where to find her. But that was all water under the bridge.

Finally, after couple of years in Boston, Stephanie had decided she couldn't fix the past with Ranger. She owed a debt of gratitude to the therapist Mrs. Kloughn had found for her, who had helped Stephanie understand her own heart. It was like how she'd had to stop focusing on Val and her mother. If Stephanie spent her time reviewing what she'd lost and the mistakes they'd all made—what she'd do over if she could, what she'd say now that it was too late…. Well, she'd miss the good that was right in front of her.

So, she'd made a New Year's resolution to assume she'd never see Ranger again. It had broken her heart, but nobody knew how to find him anymore. It was just easier than always regretting the past.

She sighed as she grabbed her coat, purse and keys from the jail's check-in desk clerk. She couldn't change what had happened before and neither could Ranger; they could only move forward. She'd been given an unexpected second chance. She hoped she could help him see that, as well, in whatever brief time she had with him. Maybe they could do better this time.

In the meantime, she had work to do.

She strode over to Detective Breyer's desk, thanked him for the time in the interrogation room, and asked him if he could spare any details on the case. She didn't know him well, but she'd helped him a couple of times with cases where key witnesses had been afraid to testify. So, Stephanie hoped that he was feeling in a reciprocating mood.

He nodded as he stretched back and motioned to his visitor chair. "Sit down, I'd rather talk to you than most of the fine upstanding citizens I get to see all shift." He moved an unsteady stack of paper from the corner of his desk to the floor, freeing space in front of her. "Do you believe it? This pile is just from this week." Straightening back up in his chair, he got right to the point. "So, what did you see? You were the last in the room."

"Well," she thought for a moment as she gazed at Breyer's tired face, idly noting that the gray threading through his hair seemed more prominent than she'd remembered. "It's what I _don't _see." Breyer rolled his hand, signaling that she should continue. "I don't see why someone as careful as Ranger would be caught in a drive-by car, unconscious, without his wallet." She kept her focus on Breyer's face. "Do we know who called it in?"

"It was anonymous, but sounded like a random. Just someone walking through an alley, probably to whiz behind a dumpster." He narrowed his eyes. "You call him Ranger. Why?" He kept looking at her with a speculative gaze. She could tell he was trying to determine her reliability in this situation and maybe get some additional background on Ranger. She would do the same in his shoes.

"It's what I told you on the phone: I knew him back in Trenton. 'Ranger' was his street name. He was somebody who always helped me out. Some of the cops didn't like him because he ignored channels, but I always knew him as an honorable person." She paused at the flood of memories clamoring for her attention, supporting that claim.

Breyer nodded slowly. "So, if I hear you right, he's someone who might ignore the finer points of the law if he felt there was a higher goal."

Recognizing the trap, she thought about her answer for a moment. "You know, that's not something I can speak to. I don't know first-hand if that's true or not." She looked directly into Breyer's eyes. "What I know is that Ranger was someone who always thought about the consequences. He didn't do stupid or careless things."

She couldn't help thinking that, in fact, she was the one who always rushed in carelessly, lucky that Ranger could usually rescue her. As though he'd heard her inner dialogue, Breyer nodded and sat forward in his chair. "You want to help him. I get that. Though I personally think you're soft for trusting someone like him."

Keeping his gaze focused on Stephanie, Breyer continued in a quiet yet forceful tone. "Lone wolves like your friend, who you call Ranger, tend to have sides to their personality that they hide from people they want to impress. In my experience, they keep going without input and they eventually cross a line." He sat back in his chair, again, keeping his gaze on Stephanie, who was thinking about what he said.

Crossing his arms casually, Breyer added, "But, I'm not going to stop you. I've seen you in action and know you have good instincts. And, that you understand the difference between helping a suspect and interfering with a case."

Stephanie nodded earnestly. Breyer shifted his body in his chair, letting their silence stretch for a moment. Then, he nodded to himself and pulled a piece of paper up from the top of a second unruly stack of folders on his desk. "So, your friend Ranger has a little problem with his bail." Breyer slid on a pair of half-rimmed reading glasses and started scanning.

"It's a high bail, but I guess that's not the problem." He paused, reading further down the note in his hand. "It looks like his bail bondsman came by an hour-or-so ago with the money. But, we're looking at Mañoso for weapons, drugs, and potential murder charges, not to mention a stolen car. Which means that he can't be released without someone to provide a local address. And the bondsman wasn't willing to take that responsibility."

Breyer gazed up at Stephanie, his expression deadpan. "If you happen to know anyone in the area who can take him in, pending the hearing, let them know they should be here around 10AM tomorrow."

Stephanie smiled, "I'll be sure to pass that along. Who is the bondsman?"

He looked down at his notes and, with a wry smile of experience, looked back up. "Stoneman Bonds and Surety."

"Ah, I know of them. I'll be sure to pass that along, too." She stood up and began to shrug-on her coat. "Thanks again for the favor tonight. I really appreciate it."

For the first time that evening, Breyer smiled at her in reply. "You've done me plenty of favors over the years. I hope, for your friend's sake, that your instincts are right on this one."

She grinned back at him. "They are."

As Breyer laughed, she headed back down the hall and out to the parking lot. She ducked into her car and turned the key. The engine stuttered slowly a few times from the cold, echoing her muttered "come on, come on, come on." And then it finally started, blowing cold air from the vents. Sitting there, hands under her armpits to keep them warm while she waited for the defrosters to clear the sheen of ice from the front and rear windows, she thought about what Breyer had said.

She knew that Ranger had a dark side that he never wanted her to see. And, that time had passed since she and Ranger were close. But, she mused that her instincts about people had always been reliable. She couldn't always tell if people were lying in the moment—she wasn't a mind reader—but she could tell if people were fundamentally honest. More importantly, she could tell unerringly if their moral compass had taken a nosedive.

Even Joe, in his frequently backhanded way, had said that her instincts were frighteningly good. In this case, her instincts were screaming that Ranger was innocent of the charges. They were telling her that he might be more morally battered than when she'd known him, further away from a world of black-and-white, but that still was looking to do the right thing.

Finally able to see through the car windows, she pulled out of the station lot and headed home. She switched the radio to FM for a change. Then, humming along, she started to think about the names and places Ranger had given her. She knew where she wanted to start looking. The traffic had quieted in the time she'd been at the jail and she was home before she knew it.

Turning off her car, she looked up at her house from the driveway. Despite the dark night, she could see the path up to her front door, where the porch light welcomed her home. She could see the fern-like tracing of frost along the lower halves of each of the door's small side-by-side windows.

Otherwise, It was late enough that most of the other lights in the house were off, even in Mrs. Arshad's first floor unit. In fact, the only house where people were obviously still awake was the multifamily across the street that was a mirror image of hers, but which had been condo-ized into separate student apartments years ago.

At the front door, she sorted her keys and opened the main door to the house, and then stepped in as quietly as she could. Avoiding the squeaky board in the entryway, she flipped on the timed light for the inside stairway leading up to her apartment. Once again, she was grateful to Albert's parents for turning this house over to her so she and the girls would always have a place to live.

After the Kloughns had moved to a nicer place decades ago, they could have made a small fortune selling it. But they'd saved it for Albert, and then after he died they'd deeded it to Stephanie for the cost of the legal transfer. With a unit downstairs she could rent, and both upper floors as her own apartment, it was the biggest and nicest place she'd ever lived. It was _home_.

After climbing to her apartment's second-floor front door as quietly as she could, trading her coat for a sweater, and making a cup of hot chocolate, she sat down at her laptop. It was late, but her mind was buzzing with possible connections. She picked up her phone to review the first set of names Ranger had given her, and started typing.

She woke up with sunlight drilling into her eyes. Taking stock, as she sat up blearily, she looked down to see her pages of notes spread on the coffee table, and her laptop on the floor. Reaching up to rub her face, she felt the sofa upholstery pattern on her left cheek and could tell her hair was doing its wild-woman of Borneo thing. She smiled, thinking that was also how she felt this morning.

Sparing a quick moment in the powder room by the entryway, she washed her face quickly and then went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She said a mental "thank you" to Mary Lou as she gazed, eyes dull, waiting for the cup to finish brewing. The mini-Keurig coffeemaker had been last year's truly-inspired Christmas gift from her and Lenny.

While she waited, she checked the kitchen clock and saw it was only 6:30 in the morning. She had plenty of time before she needed to call Stoneman Bonds and head to the station for Ranger. Grabbing the coffee, she went back to the livingroom to pull her notes together in the final moments before the girls woke up and the morning officially began.

As she sipped, she started to see a pattern between a couple of the names Ranger had provided and one she had found last night. She logged into the nationwide search program and started to poke around, only to find that she didn't have the proper access. Without thinking, she put down her coffee and picked up her phone.

After the third ring, he picked up. "Morelli," he ground out, his voice low and scratchy. In the background, she heard Amanda ask, "Joe, who the heck is calling at this hour?"

"Steph, is that you?" Joe asked, his voice somewhere between a growl and a yawn.

"Yeah, Joe, I'm really sorry. I forgot how early it is. But, I have a favor to ask."

"Of course you do, Steph," he grumbled, but she could also hear the humor in his voice. "Why do I have the feeling that I'm about to hear the name 'Ranger'?" She heard him shifting in the background, and could tell from Amanda's questions that he was probably getting out of bed so he could keep talking without bothering his wife. "And you know, Steph, that's one of my favorite things to hear first-thing in the morning." She heard a door close on Joe's end.

She grimaced. "Um, you figured that out because you're Trenton Chief of Detectives and really, really smart…."

"Uh huh," he grunted on the other end of the phone. "But flattery isn't a bad idea, so don't stop now."

"Okay, oh smarter-than-the-average-bear," she heard him snort on the other end, "here's the thing. I did look into background on Ranger's case and there's something really hinky. When you're actually awake, can you look up a name for me? I can send you the details, but this guy Brendan Fennelly is one of our fugitives, with a munitions background from working construction."

"Wait, Steph. I'm confused. No coffee yet, remember? Why am I looking up information on a Massachusetts perp? I thought this had to do with Mañoso."

"Yeah, Joe. I just get this feeling that he's an associate of Ranger's skip. He intersects in a few places, including Galveston Texas where Ranger's skip lived until recently, and Portland Maine where he knew another munitions guy on Ranger's list. He's on the FBI watch list, now, so as a community liaison I don't have clearance to look. There are a couple of other names too, if you don't mind."

While she waited for Joe to process what she'd said, she took a long sip of coffee, trying hard not to slurp and remind Joe that he didn't have any.

Finally he asked, "Next question. Why am I looking this up, instead of one of the detectives in the office there?"

She nodded, though he couldn't see her. "Here's the deal: You know Ranger, so you'll be able to read between the lines. He's not your collar, so you don't have skin in the game to make this be a big arrest." She paused for a moment, adding "Also, though you don't like _him_, you like _me_, so you'll look at both sides."

She heard him exhale forcefully, "All right, Steph. I'll look them up. Send the names to my personal email address. It's not going to be right away, though. Just as a public service reminder, it's Saturday morning. The weekend."

"Thanks Joe. I really owe you."

"Well, so far you owe Amanda. But, just be clear that I'm doing this for you, not for Mañoso. And, if you use anything I find, don't flash my name around. I don't want to create bad blood between Boston and Trenton by butting in on their case."

"I understand Joe. And, thanks again." After he said goodbye and she hung up, she heard stirring upstairs where the girls' bedrooms were. Quickly, before they descended, she pulled together her papers and logged off the laptop. She went back to her bedroom, tucked away in the hall beyond the kitchen, and started to get ready for the day.

It was going to be a long day, she could tell. But she was also hopeful for what it could bring.

_To be continued…_

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_AN: As some of you noticed, for this story I've gone back to the books to understand the characters. Did you know that, through book #20, Lester Santos and Bobby Brown have really only been in High Five? Stephanie mentions Tank in most of the books, though mostly as Ranger's right-hand man, and Hal makes repeat appearances. But she doesn't seem particularly close to any of them. As for Ranger… what's up with that man? He sends at least as many mixed signals as Stephanie. He seems to love and trust her, goes to extreme lengths to rescue her, seduces her with amorous intensity, yet repeatedly lets her go with nary a struggle._

_I guess what I'm saying is that the story of Stephanie, Ranger, and the Merry Men that has evolved in FanFiction, and which I personally favor, isn't quite *there* in published form. But love need not be constrained by the dictates of past written events. We write the better version ourselves: One story, one chapter, and one moment at a time._


	4. Ch4: Making It Out

_Another big 'Thank You' to those of you following along with this story. I apologize for being slow on replies; unexpected business travel is taking a bit more of my attention than I expected. I do read them and greatly appreciate the ideas and support you have all provided. Also, continuing thanks to jbspencer06 who has kindly read ahead and helps me connect the dots. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes. Those are all mine._

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**Chapter 4: Making It Out**

Ranger sat on the hard jail cot, his long legs stretched out while he waited for the guards. He figured there was a 50/50 chance that this morning's attempt at bail would work. He'd given the bail-bondsman, Stony, some names. Since, Ranger wasn't allowed any more phone calls after he was booked, he needed to let Stony make the contacts and work out the logistics.

Time to see if anyone felt like cashing in a favor for Ranger. It likely wasn't going to be anyone local. It had been a long time since he'd bought and sold his security office in Boston and he'd never spent much time there anyway. Most of the Army and Rangeman contacts he had from Boston were dispersed across the country; even across the world. He didn't think Army Ranger Sergeant Riley's mother-in-law or former Rangemen Brett and Slick's parents would be showing up to bail him out and give him a place to stay.

In the bright, unforgiving light of the cell, he could see a bruise spreading on his right hand. His left hand was slightly worse off, but not bad. He'd peeled back the gauze to check out the butterfly bandages. The knuckles were gashed and swollen but he'd have no trouble using either hand. Beyond that, and the needle mark he'd found in the crook of his elbow, he didn't see any notable physical damage.

He'd washed his face and splashed water on his hair for a finger-combing, but imagined he still looked rougher for wear. And, frankly, he smelled of three days without a shower and a night in lock-up. Even better, he knew that the clothes waiting in jail storage were ripped and would smell from the beer spilled on him in the abandoned car. He was going to stink like a goddamn biker bar the morning after a fight.

However, he'd been in worse situations and usually found ways to turn them to his advantage. He was patient, smart, and cunning. With training and experience. He knew these weren't boasts; they were facts. So, while he waited, he thought.

At least his head had cleared. He could tell he'd been tasered, but after that they obviously knocked him out further. Unfortunately he didn't remember much after opening the bodega door. His injuries told him that he'd punched someone with his right hand and probably banged-up his left while trying to smash someone into a counter or shelf. But he hadn't fought long enough to take many hits. No real bruises or facial cuts. So it was fast; someone he hadn't seen. Tasered after only a couple of hits.

As best he could figure, he'd been out for close to ten hours. He suspected ketamine based on the depth of unconsciousness, possibly mixed with barbiturates to explain the duration and the lassitude he felt throughout his body. That would be consistent with his memory lapse and the injection mark, as well.

He had good resistance to standard drugs, but still knew he was lucky to be alert this morning. Even luckier to be alive. It did, though, leave him with the minor problem that he'd needed to refuse the sobriety needle-stick yesterday. These days, tests could be broad-spectrum and the last thing he needed was to show up with a Class 1 or 2 narcotic in his system.

That meant that, from the very start, circumstantial evidence pointed to the notion that he had passed out, drunk. That he'd become careless. That, like many before him, he'd slipped from being an expert at surveillance and fugitive-return into a cycle of vigilantism and addiction. Ranger himself could name a few men with a similar background who'd gone that way.

The investigators who questioned him certainly seemed to believe that theory, as did the night-court judge who'd set his high bail. He would have to overwhelm them with evidence to the contrary. In the time remaining, he would have to solve the case he was on.

But, he mused, the first step was that Stony needed to get him out on bail. If Ranger were the type of man who rolled his eyes, he'd roll them over Roger Stoneman, a.k.a. Stony. He reminded Ranger of Vinnie Plum, back in the day. He had the same shifty look, and also seemed to have a similar throwback liking for slicked-back hair. He guessed wryly that assholes like Vinnie and Stony explained why he could still find Brylcreem in non-military drugstores.

On the theory that Stony could spring him this morning, Ranger needed to figure out logistics. Stony was bringing him a phone and a money order, but he'd need to get his own car. Ranger figured his truck was at a chop-shop by now, and his guns and other equipment on their way to new owners. So, he'd need a gun, a stun-gun, handcuffs…. He'd need to find a pawn shop, ideally in a Latino neighborhood so he could blend in.

And, he'd need some goddamn clothes and a safe place to bunk, but those were the least of his problems.

Biggest problem: How did Figueroa know to target him?

Next problem: Was there a relationship between Figueroa and the other men that people had told him were missing? As he'd followed Figueroa's trail from town-to-town, several people had said they didn't know Figueroa, but they knew someone else with a similar story. Men with green cards or student visas who'd suddenly disappeared with their families. Men with guns.

One of the men, Burc Aburek, particularly interested Ranger. Aburek was originally from Turkey, here on the US with a lapsed green card. He'd piqued a couple neighbors' interest by coming and going with rifles, though he didn't engage in off-license hunting in the woods to put meat on the family table. He'd taken his wife and daughter, disappearing overnight from Portland, Maine.

It was within a week of when Figueroa had been in Portland. Nobody had reported Aburek missing; his neighbors saw them move out and he simply failed to appear at his under-the-counter restaurant job the next day.

Ranger had passed his name to Stephanie along with a couple of others whose stories also stood out for Ranger. Those men—particularly Mirko Krc from Turkish Armenia and Amadeo Djaleo from Trinidad—were long shots. But somehow related to the pattern. And now at least Ranger wasn't the only person who knew all of their names.

Which reminded him of Stephanie's visit last night. As he'd awakened this morning with his head pounding, he imagined he'd dreamt of her. That is, until he realized that Stephanie in his dreams was never any older than the day they'd met. And she was never dressed in jeans. Typically she was in a distraction dress, in a T-shirt sleeping in her bed, or naked in his. It could have been a hallucination, but given the vivid dreams he still had occasionally, why would he hallucinate that all she did was _talk _with him?

And, his dreams hardly ever included that odd _frisson_ of electricity he remembered from her touch. Over time, he'd convinced himself that he had just been misremembering something more mundane, like the pulse in his dick when she was near. Last night, though, he'd felt it again. It made him remember the time he'd investigated whether she had a pacemaker that was malfunctioning. But no, apparently not.

Regardless, he could only conclude that she'd actually been here last night. Which was disorienting on multiple levels. To keep focus, he thought about whether he should take her up on her offer to look into his missing men. He truly could use the help. Since he was working this case off-the-records, he lacked the access required to conduct the electronic searches that he needed.

He'd taken this one as a favor—and a challenge. One of the few FBI contacts who Ranger still enjoyed working with, Tino Clark, had met Ranger over lunch. Discussing the Figueroa case, Clark indirectly indicated that there seemed to be something deeper behind the Figueroa case than a simple parental abduction.

According to Clark, the case was being pursued with a curious lack of fervor. Further, his questions had been shut down at higher levels. Clark was looking for independent verification to bypass the block he'd run into. After a brief, seemingly diversionary discussion of the two most recent career-making cases Ranger had solved, Clark had asked casually whether Ranger was up for the challenge of tracking Figueroa under the table. And whether Ranger could make his pursuit look solely like a missing children's case.

Ranger knew that Clark was playing to his vanity. However, the money was good and Ranger was between projects. And, more importantly, the more Clark had described the scenario, the more Ranger agreed that something sounded "off." Now he was sure of it, since he hadn't received any return calls from Clark since the first time he'd phoned-in names of additional vanished men.

He was pretty much on his own. After he was someplace secure, he'd call Steph and find out if she'd found something. If so, she was done. If not, he'd tell her to stop looking. That was safest for her. And, then he could start trying to put her back into the attic of his memories. She had always fascinated and confused him, keeping him off-balance but always drawn back for more, like an addict.

And like any addiction, cold turkey left him with a sizeable dose of anger, which he now could see had distorted his perceptions for years. He couldn't afford to have anyone in his thoughts who could so thoroughly disrupt his ability to see straight. This morning his traitorous imagination had spun visions of Stephanie back in his life. Of him calling her from the road, and then stopping over at her place to be greeted with her amazing, accepting smile.

He was surprised he didn't visualize himself helping her bake cookies or mow the goddamn lawn. Not only did he need to relegate thoughts of Steph back to that mental attic, he needed to throw away the key.

He also needed some goddamn breakfast. By his calculations it had been at least 30 hours since he'd eaten. He could control it, but the mild hypoglycemia that ran through his family had begun to surface over the past few years. He was starting to feel a hint of dizziness; the last thing he needed was to sound confused. Or, to pick a pointless fight like an old boxer.

It was starting to get difficult to hide his impatience when finally the door to the cell block opened and the morning guard came in. "Looks like you'll have to leave our four-star accommodations," the guard deadpanned as he unlocked the cell door. "I'm gonna take you down to the sign-out desk where you can pick up your stuff. There's a bathroom just outside that door, next to the bubbler, where you can change back to your street clothes." The cell door clanged closed behind them as the guard led him out.

"Then, you'll go through the outer door and your parties will be waiting in the lobby." The guard unlocked the section door with the sound of metal grating on metal, and started walking him down the hall. "Of course, now you know what a fine place we run here, I won't be surprised to see you again, just for that nice city-supplied mattress. You look like someone who's accustomed to establishments like ours."

Ranger fought his mounting annoyance as he stopped at the check-out desk to sign the discharge forms and pick up his itemized belongings from the bin. Clothes, boots, soggy roll of Mentos mints, the lockpick set that looked like a hairpick, and the laminated pocket map of Boston he'd picked up a couple days ago. No wallet, no watch, no money clip, no keys, no phone. No guns, no knives, no cuffs.

And, dammit, no coat or gloves, either. The goddamn punks who'd grabbed him had been thorough. Well, he'd make use of that money-order that Stony should be bringing. He'd already turned to leave when the woman behind the Property Release desk told him to wait. She handed him a pair of clean sweatpants and a sweatshirt, saying they had been brought for him this morning. She also handed him a plastic garbage bag to hold anything he wanted to carry.

He locked himself in the bathroom on the other side of the water fountain and quickly changed clothes, dropping the orange jumpsuit into the bin by the door. He managed a quick clean-up at the sink, then pulled on the sweats along with his socks and boots. The sweatpants were loose enough so he could walk around without looking indecent and was surprised that the sweatshirt was almost too big.

A gray hoodie with Boston College Eagles spelled across the front in large cracked letters, it smelled vaguely of Polo aftershave, of all things. It was large enough that he was able to pull the sleeves down over the tops of his hands, mostly covering the loosened gauze over the stitches on his left one. No need to broadcast his injuries after he walked out the door.

Stuffing his own filthy clothes into the plastic bag, he took a final look in the mirror. No wonder the young woman at the property release window had been more skittish than flirtatious. Between the shadow of his beard and his expression, he looked like fury on legs. Sardonically, surprising himself with the thought, he wondered what Steph would think if she saw him now.

He took a deep breath and smoothed out his expression before walking out of the bathroom and through the door to the lobby. At which point, he immediately spotted Stony standing next to—oh crap—Stephanie. What the hell? He was sure he'd shown no reaction, though he'd felt himself tense. This wasn't how he'd planned it.

Then, she smiled at him and held out a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water. "Hi Ranger, I know they changed their protocols so they don't bother feeding people who are going to be released in the morning, anymore."

Of course, she worked for the cops. She'd know about jail routines. He fought back the sudden, surprising twinge of disappointment that she didn't actually know he was hungry as a remnant of the special, uncanny awareness of him she'd always seemed to have.

He nodded his thanks and began opening a granola bar. "Whole Foods, Steph? No TastyKakes?" He took a bite. It was sweeter than he usually preferred, but right now that wasn't bad. He took another bite, and was halfway through the first bar already.

She smiled. "It may be cold out, but I checked and Hell hasn't frozen over yet. So, I figured you'd probably still prefer granola bars. Those are actually from the Food Co-op, but they're pretty good," she continued as she passed him the water bottle, "I still do order cases of TastyKakes off Amazon. Two signs that Boston isn't the center of the universe that they like to think: Number one is that normal stores don't sell TastyKakes, and number two is that people don't know that 'the higher the hair, the closer to God'."

Ranger felt a moment of inner amusement as Stony looked askance at Steph. Welcome to the world of Stephanie Plum, Ranger thought to himself. He'd forgotten about the unusual way that she processed the world on-the-fly and then shared her inner life with everyone nearby. He wished for a moment that he could keep that in his life without the emotional pull.

Then he banished that wish; he was here to finish a job, not to be back in Steph's life.

Pausing before finishing the second granola bar, Ranger took a sip of water. He was feeling steady again. Ready to get his show on the road. "Thanks Steph." he said, looking to give her closure on their interaction before he moved forward. "Stony, besides the sweats, what else have you got?"

"The clothes are courtesy of Ms. Plum, though I brought you a coat and a backpack," Stony answered, his nasal voice surprisingly high-pitched for his girth, which was classic middle-aged spread. Ranger shook out the coat—an Army surplus pea coat—and put it on while Stony pulled out a phone and an envelope.

"I got you an unlocked GSM cell phone, so you can change the memory card and caller identity as needed, with $200 in minutes and a data plan that's good through the end of the month." Ranger was watching him, rather than looking at the phone, and noticed that Stony was sweating despite the cold.

After opening the envelope and quickly scanning the money-order, Ranger locked his unblinking gaze back on Stony. "This is much less than I specified," he said in a low, measured voice.

"Don't give me that look. That's what's left over from Sebring's advance, plus an advance from me." Stony looked around for eavesdroppers, then continued more quietly. "Your former business partner hasn't returned my call yet. Your broker said he can't get at the funds you identified until Monday due to a bank holiday. He also said you have to call him before he'll wire it, because you explicitly told him never to advance money without verifying your voice on the line."

Ranger began to see the problem with how secure he'd made his most liquid assets; they were protected even from him. He nodded. He'd make do with this for now. He'd gotten by on far less on missions back in the Army.

"Okay, Mañoso," Stony continued, "this is where I tell you that you are legally obligated by the state of Massachusetts to attend your hearing later this month. You have the date. And if you don't show, the bail bond is forfeit and assets put up for collateral become property of Stoneman Bail and Surety." He paused, with a faintly calculating look. "So, this is your chance to stick it to Sebring if you're gonna, but I'd advise strongly against it."

Buttoning his coat, Stony added, "You look all stone-cold Scarface and all. But, in my experience Sebring is too, he just goes to a classy barber and always dresses like he's headed to a Rotary Club awards lunch." With that, he pulled on some gloves and headed toward the exit. "Just do us all a frickin' favor and show up at your pre-trial hearing," he called out through the revolving door.

"So Ranger," Stephanie pulled his baleful attention away from the door. "Stony thought you didn't already have a place to stay, since you didn't have a local address in your paperwork. If that's true, you can stay at my house. There's a den with a fairly new sofa bed; my dad says it's fairly comfortable."

"Steph, I don't think that's a good idea."

"An answer that confirms that you don't actually have a place to stay, so you're coming home with me."

He could feel his eyebrow rising; had his deflections always been that transparent to her? "Steph, whoever got to me this time was a pro; I didn't see it coming. Having me at your house isn't safe."

"I've thought about that, Ranger, and here's what I think. If the person who nabbed you wanted you dead, they'd have killed you and left you in that car." She put her hands on her hips. "So they don't want you dead, just out of the way, somehow. Or, maybe to have your reputation tarnished."

He had come to that conclusion, also, during his long night on the jail's hard bed. But, that didn't mean he needed charity. Nor did he particularly need the temptation he remembered from times they'd stayed together in the past.

"You really don't need to bring me home, Steph. All I need is a cheap motel."

"Ranger, you're family. Of course you're coming home with me. Besides, I just signed a ton of paperwork that lists me as your contact and guarantor, so it kinda makes sense that you'd stay with me." She looked down and pulled her keys from her purse.

Ranger felt like a fool; his heart had actually tumbled a beat when she'd said he was family. He remembered that he'd always had difficulty staying logical around her. To get back on track, he squared his shoulders and started thinking about his options.

Opportunistically, given his current cash situation, it made sense to stay with Steph. He'd do it if this were someone like Tank or his old Ranger buddy Kinsey. Someone with whom he had a history of trust, even if they weren't particularly close at this point.

His gut told him to trust Steph in this, as he had many times in their past life together. His mind said it was dangerous for her, while his heart... Well, that wasn't a part of his anatomy he should let guide his actions. It didn't get nearly enough use, and it was historically bad at judgment calls. Along with another part of his anatomy that was threatening to rise to the argument.

As he wrestled with his thoughts, Stephanie started zipping her coat. "Okay, Ranger, get over yourself. You're coming home with me. You can shower there, and make phone calls if you need. Then we can get you some clothes."

Staring blankly at her while she put her hands on her hips and glared back at him, Ranger thought the expression "get over yourself" was startlingly apt. Reluctantly, he acknowledged the sense in her argument and nodded. He followed Steph outside into the cold, glad of the knit watch cap he found in the pocket of the pea coat Stony had brought.

Stephanie beeped open the doors of a battered green Subaru SUV. Ranger noted that it had some rust, and one of the doors was blue. But otherwise it wasn't in bad shape. She'd driven worse. Out of habit, he pulled the passenger door open for her, but she continued to the driver's side without pausing. Amused despite himself, he angled himself into the passenger seat. It was proof that there was a first time for everything, including having Steph be in charge of the car.

As Stephanie turned the key, the radio blared to life, air gusted from the dashboard vents, and the engine rumbled like a boat's outboard motor. As she swatted off the radio and fan, Ranger commented, "Nice car."

"Yeah, yeah. Everyone's a smarty pants on Saturday morning," she mumbled as she backed out of the spot and headed to the parking lot gate. She opened her window and tapped a pass to open the gate. "Ranger, you can make fun of my car if you want, but notice that I actually _have_ a car and you don't."

"Yeah, Babe, it's a good car, just a little loud."

He noticed her hesitate, and her eyes swiveled toward him. Belatedly, he realized that he'd called her "Babe" out of habit. Something about being together in the car had short-circuited his thinking and it seemed natural. He braced for her to object to his use of the nickname after all this time, but she just looked back at the road.

"It is a good car, you're right. I bought it used from a guy at work and I've had it for almost five years." She looked out the left window and gunned the accelerator. As she swerved into traffic, Ranger restrained the urge to reach for the grip handle above the door. Amused at his own reaction, he wryly considered that Steph probably wouldn't be thrilled to see him reach for the "oh shit" bar as she drove. He did, though, surreptitiously double-check that his seatbelt was fastened.

"So, anyway, Ranger. I wasn't sure where you stood clothes-wise, so I borrowed a couple pairs of sweatpants and shirts from my neighbor Darius. We can wash your existing clothes but, if everything was in your truck I'm guessing you'll need more. Darius gave me the name of the local big-and-tall men's shop where he goes, so we can go there later today if you want. Or Macy's, Footlocker, or Walmart. You tell me."

"We'll see. Probably the highest priority is to get a car." He pulled out the phone Stony had delivered and started looking online to check what his options were for getting a replacement driver's license over the weekend. Obviously he could obtain and drive a car without one. Or, he could get one of his false-identity driver's licenses overnighted to him. But, with his current legal situation he figured that getting his real license replaced was a better option.

"While we were waiting for you to be released," Steph said, while slowing for a red light, "I snared a copy of the police report where you reported your wallet and driver's license stolen, and I made sure it was officially on-file in the right system." She looked at him, briefly, after stopping for the light. "So you can file that with your state's Department of Motor Vehicles."

He nodded, realizing that he should have thought of that at the station, and looked back at the website on his phone. Having that form made this process easier. He could file online, but he'd have to overnight-mail the police form to New York, and then if all things worked right the DMV would overnight his new license to him. So, he was looking at Tuesday or Wednesday. Crap.

He couldn't rent a car without a license. So he'd have to use a fair amount of his money on a no-paperwork junk car until then. Of course he could steal one. Ironically, his best bet would be to break into the police impound and steal a car that had obviously been sitting there awhile. After they finally found him, though, he imagined he'd be in an orange jumpsuit for the better part of his adult life. That wasn't going to happen.

And, dammit, he already knew that his convenience accounts at Bank of America, RBS, CathayBank and Santander wouldn't be available to him until he got either a driver's license or a passport. This wasn't Switzerland, where a retina scan and fingerprint match would do the trick. He ran through his mental inventory of which aliases went to what accounts, and how much money he had available in each one. Then, he reviewed which IDs were readily available to someone other than him. Crap, he was going to have to call in another favor.

While he mulled over his immediate next steps, Stephanie pulled into a driveway and shut off the car. "We're here Ranger, follow me," she said, opening her door. She stepped out of the car and hitched her purse on her shoulder in a gesture that Ranger remembered.

As he got out of the car, he looked up; he'd seen this type of house as he'd driven around town. Brown and beige, it looked like three large, flat houses had been stacked on top of each other sometime in the 1920s. Each storey had a front door and covered porch, one right on top of the other. As they went up the sidewalk, though, he could tell that only the first floor door was an exit to the street. He felt himself relax slightly as he spotted the passageway for a rear staircase peeking around the back corner of the house

She keyed them into the front door, which opened to a vestibule with a decorative locked inner door and a staircase, carpeted with a runner. As Ranger looked around the small entry space, Stephanie took a step up the stairway. She looked back at him and gestured with her head for him to follow. "C'mon Ranger, it's upstairs. I have a tenant, Mrs. Arshad, who lives in the first floor apartment. The owner's unit, where we live, is on the second and third floors." Stephanie continued up the slightly creaky stairs to a short landing, where she unlocked another door and led them into a sunlit livingroom.

Ranger followed her in, silently cataloging the room. He hadn't known what to expect, but it felt oddly like home even while he felt his shoulders tense at being in an unknown space.

As Stephanie went to turn off the alarm, he noted the layered scent of cooking, a row of hooks by the door covered with coats of varying styles and sizes, a nondescript sofa and loveseat around a coffee table with a few other chairs of varying styles, a flat-screen TV, school photographs on the mantle, stacks of books and paper, a couple of laptops, and a dining table just visible around a corner.

He thought he remembered the 1950's style half-height chest and the flanking wing chair from the Plum's home back in Trenton. It was like walking into a memory that he'd never had.

The beeping of the alarm silenced, Stephanie put down her purse and shrugged out of her unzipped coat. As she hung it on an empty hook by the door, she turned back to Ranger with a smile. He saw pride, mischief and amusement in her eyes.

He felt a pang of surprise as he remembered that look. It was the same one he'd seen after she'd brought in her first FTA when he was first moonlighting as Henry Higgins to her Eliza. When the little, fearless lingerie buyer had brought in Morelli—an experienced, intelligent cop—all by herself.

"Ranger," Stephanie said, her arm extending to encompass the lived-in space around her, her eyes gleaming. "Welcome home."

_To be continued..._


	5. Ch5: Settling In

_Many thanks, again, for everyone who is following along and for the great comments and ideas I've received. Continuing thanks to jbspencer06 who has been reading ahead with a great eye for the nuances in these characters. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes. _

* * *

**Chapter 5: Settling In**

"Here Ranger, the den is back through the kitchen," Stephanie said as she led Ranger through her house. As she walked, she was imagining what Ranger was seeing. This was nothing like the modern, peaceful space he'd created for himself back at his Rangeman building at Haywood. Probably it felt chaotic, even though she'd had a whirlwind tidying session this morning before dropping off the girls with the Kloughns for the day.

She reflected that her home was also different from her old apartment in Trenton, where she'd lived back when she'd felt close to Ranger. For one thing, it was at least four times larger inside. There were absolutely no avocado appliances or bathroom fixtures. And, it had real furniture; a blend of what she'd acquired on her own, a few pieces donated by the Kloughns, and what her dad had shipped them after selling the house back in Chambersburg.

It was a grown-up home. She realized, with a start, that she was comfortable with being the actual grown up in that home. Something to think about.

She saw him scanning the dining room, taking in the big table arrayed with homework and the home-office mess on the credenza. She looked for a reaction as he followed her into the surprisingly large kitchen with its reasonably up-to-date appliances, waiting for a barb about her cooking abilities. However, his face was the blank mask she remembered from when she'd first met him.

Probably he was just mapping escape routes and possible weapons in case international terrorists invaded her house.

On reflection, though, she realized that this situation might be even more peculiar for Ranger than for herself. She'd immediately started planning for him to be here after Detective Breyer had outlined Ranger's problem with his bond. Ranger, however, was far from home and strangely alone. He padded after her with the measured steps of a feral cat who'd been lured inside by a now-suspicious saucer of milk.

Remembering that her chatter had sometimes amused and calmed him in the past, Stephanie started talking. "This house is laid out a bit oddly. Mrs. Kloughn said her father was the one who turned the top two apartments into a single unit for their family. She was a little girl at the time. I guess that her grandfather was living with them along with an aunt or two, so they really needed the space."

She paused, and saw that Ranger had turned his attention to her. "The stairs you saw in the living room go up to the third story, where the girls' rooms are. There's still a kitchenette up there, though we don't use it. And, there's a second full bath and a powder room up there too, thank heavens."

She walked through the kitchen and pointed out the door that led to the fire escape outside, just beyond the laundry room. Then she turned to go through a different doorway on the far wall. As she stopped to show Ranger where the light switch was, she looked back at him. "This is a little, separate area. The den, where you can stay, is at the end of this hallway off to the left. My room is down the other end on the right, and the bathroom is this newer-looking door next to the linen closet."

As he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, she continued, "There's another powder room on this level also, by the front door. So it's fairly private back here. You can shower in peace."

She turned left down the hallway toward the den, hearing the floorboards squeak as Ranger followed her. "This whole area through that door used to be a back porch for the apartment on this floor. That's why this hallway runs side-to-side across the back of the house, and the whole thing kinda feels tacked-on. It's all insulated, though."

"Bit of a tilt, Steph." She looked at Ranger, who was inspecting the hallway floor. She half expected him to squat down and roll a marble from the doorway to the wall, as she and Angie did once. They'd also measured it and found almost an inch drop-off in height in the two feet from the doorway to the wall. There was the same tilt on the third floor, but it was part of the outside porch so she didn't stumble up there.

"No kidding." She snorted. "Don't try walking back here if you've had one-too-many glasses of wine. But it's just the hall; the rooms are level." She took a few more steps. "And, you know, after awhile you don't even notice that the hallway tilts." She figured that Ranger didn't need to know that she still tumbled into the far wall on a weekly basis. He was so coordinated he'd probably never tripped in his entire life. Well, except when Stephanie was underfoot.

Stephanie gestured him into the last door at the end of the hall. "Here's your room. The sofa folds out into a bed. There are clean sheets already on it, and you can use the blankets and pillows on the cabinet. The top two drawers of the cabinet are empty and you can use the left side of the closet. Not that you need that now, but you might."

She opened the closet door. "Also, believe it or not, there's a lockable compartment inside," she moved aside some coats from the wall. "If you get a lock, you can store guns or whatever you need in here."

At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "Don't ask; nobody knows why there's a locker inside this closet. This back part of the house was already enclosed when the Kloughns bought the house. We also found a hidden stairway from the third floor that goes to the boiler room in the basement." She shrugged again and moved back to the door. "It's just part of the strange, speakeasy charm of the place."

She stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing at his hooded eyes. She pushed down the urge to go back over to him and caress his tired-looking face in comfort. It had been a long time since they'd had that type of relationship. Instead, she remembered how he had rescued her and then set her free more times than she could recall. She could do at least that much for him.

Returning to the practical, she took a breath. "Anyhow, Ranger, I know you have a lot to do. I'll take your clothes and put them in the washer and leave you back here to shower." She reached out her hand for the plastic bag holding his clothes. "The extra pair of sweats is over there, next to the blankets. The bathroom light switches are in the hallway; it's just a weird thing they used to do in Massachusetts. You can use the dark blue towels in the bathroom, and I put out a first-aid kit and some shaving stuff that my dad left here."

She glanced at him, making sure this was okay so far. Feeling a bit awkward, she added, "Just do me a favor and lock the bathroom doors when you're in it. She looked away. "And, be dressed while you're in the hallway. The girls sometimes come to my bedroom, back here."

"Not a problem, Steph."

She watched for a moment longer as he took off the coat and pulled out his cell phone. At his nod, she pulled the door closed and headed back to the kitchen.

Since she didn't know how long it would take for Ranger to finish his calls, shower and dress, she didn't start fixing breakfast until after she heard the shower cut off. She used the time beforehand to make another cup of coffee for herself, put Ranger's beer-laced clothes in the washing machine, fold what had been in the dryer, check her schedule, and return a few emails from work.

Just another Saturday morning on Planet Plum, she thought wryly to herself. Yup, nothing different going on, here. No sir-ee.

She had time to put Ranger's clothes in the dryer and start another load washing before Ranger finally emerged from the hallway door. He looked more like how she remembered, even though he was in the second pair of loaned Boston College sweats. Cleaned up and shaved, she could see that his face was leaner than she recalled, but he was still broad and impressively muscular.

More tellingly, he still radiated an aura of control, that sense of consciously restrained power that she remembered like an electric shock down her back.

She pointed him to the kitchen table. "That laptop should be ready to use; it's an extra so consider it yours. That stack of paper on your left is my notes from my research last night. I'll give you a summary in a moment." She set a cup of coffee down next to the plate of scrambled egg whites and toast that she'd already set out, along with a cup of yogurt and grapes.

Ranger sat down, looked at the table, then gazed quizzically back at her. "Is this food for me, Steph?"

"Yeah, I already ate. Dig in." She watched as he returned his attention to the table, staring motionless as though he was memorizing the placement of everything. Unless the map of his face had changed, Stephanie was sure that the wrinkle between his eyebrows was telegraphing profound confusion. She turned back to the refrigerator to hide her expression, and pulled out a bottle of water for herself. She couldn't help but be amused; she'd flummoxed the Wizard.

Of course, when he'd known her, back in Trenton, she was legendarily bad at cooking. Later she'd decided it was some combination of rebellion, retreat away from all things housewifely after her divorce from Dickie, and maybe even a bit of depression. Also, on reflection, her mother had taught her how to cook meals for six or more people. Beyond sandwiches, she hadn't known how to cook for one person. And, hadn't really wanted to.

Now, she cooked. She did laundry. She helped with homework. She was relatively organized. She still cheered herself by shopping Macy's sale racks, but now also shopped at Walmart, Home Depot, Costco, and Toys 'R' Us. She really liked her job. And, she didn't even want to imagine what her life would be, right now, if she didn't have the girls in her life.

She smiled to herself. Poor Ranger. She'd learned over time that he was a man, not really a wizard. So, how could he ever figure out Stephanie's current life from gazing at a plate of eggs?

She turned back to the table, and saw that Ranger was eating while scanning through her notes. He nodded at her as she sat down, with what looked like approval in his eyes.

"This is good, Steph. Who is this guy, Fennelly? He seems connected to a few of my targets."

"He's one of our FTAs. I started seeing a pattern between the men you mentioned and it reminded me of our guy, Brendan Fennelly. He was covered in one of our department morning briefings recently." She added, in a conspiratorial tone, "I always pay attention when they cover the skips; I just can't help myself." She grinned briefly, and thought she saw a spark of amusement in Ranger's face.

"Fennelly's on an expired green card too," she continued, "though he's Irish so he can disappear easily in Boston. But, I remembered them saying he'd been in San Antonio and Galveston Texas about six months ago, and you'd said your guy Figueroa came from Galveston. I dug a bit further and found that Fennelly was also in Maine a few years ago when there was a suspicious explosion." She paused to look through the papers on the table, finally pointing at one note.

"Here it is: Fennelly worked in a Sprint store in Portland Maine, for awhile, with a guy named Emil Akarsu, who died in a building explosion. There was evidence of a blasting cap, so it wasn't an accident, but nobody was able to pin it on anyone. Fennelly's green card was still good at that point, and he had an alibi. They never closed the case."

Ranger nodded, "Interesting. Akarsu… one of the missing men I've been partly tracking—Burc Aburek—is married to someone with that last name."

"Exactly, and it's not a name like Smith or Taylor that you see everywhere. Especially not in Portland Maine." She took a sip of water while Ranger scanned her writing. As he turned to the second page, she continued, "Another name you gave me, Mirko Krc, also turned up some interesting connections. And, by the way, where do these guys get their names?" She saw his lip twitch with amusement.

"Anyhow, I think you said it was another name from Fall River, though I couldn't find him there. I did, though, find someone named M. Krc who worked at the same dockyard as your guy Figueroa down in Galveston." Ranger shifted in his chair, his eyes intent on her. "And, before that, I found that same green card number listed for a Marco Kirk attending an English as a Second Language school in Minneapolis, along with a guy named Amadeo Zaleyo."

She stopped and pointed at another piece of paper on the table. "I haven't had a chance to really check that, but the name sounds enough like your Amadeo Djaleo that I wonder if it's the same person, especially since it's Minnesota where you said that Djaleo guy used to live. Here are the addresses on-file back at the time of their applications. Theoretically, they would have been vetted by Homeland Security."

As Ranger sat, nodding slowly and sipping his coffee, Stephanie noticed that he'd finished his food already, leaving nothing behind. He had obviously been hungry, even with the granola bars this morning. She wondered how long he'd been living out of his truck.

Interrupting her thoughts, Ranger squared her stack of paper and picked it up, again. "Steph, this is really helpful. I see you also have the FTA paperwork for your guy, Fennelly. Are you still skip tracing on the side?"

"I work for the cops, remember? Bounty hunting is one of the many fun hobbies you have to give up." She peered at him from the corner of her eyes. "However, I kinda persuaded Stony to make me a copy and bring it this morning."

She watched as he stared silently at her over the rim of the coffee cup, eyes narrowed. From her experience with the arresting detectives in her precinct, she knew he was applying nonverbal pressure to encourage her to fill the silence while he thought about what she'd said.

She found herself wishing she had understood that technique back when she'd first known Ranger back in Trenton. He had always been able to sit her out, getting her to divulge anything with his motionless, focused stare. Since then, she'd learned a lot about intimidation and stonewalling from masters at the art. So, she just peered back at him, enjoying the moment. Time stretched on.

Finally, Ranger's eyes narrowed. "Stony didn't make you pay for this, did he?" Ranger asked, darkly.

"No. I traded him a favor, she replied, archly. "He was in a bit of a bind this morning. It seems that he needed a local residential address to bond-out a really scary prisoner in a deal that had gotten dumped on him last night. The cops wouldn't accept any of his usual addresses, including the YMCA men's residence or the HoJo's by Fenway. Stony was starting to worry about his personal safety if he couldn't deliver."

She paused for a sip of water, entertained by Ranger's attentive look. With mock seriousness, she added, "I figured he was busy, so he didn't need to know that I already planned to provide an address, regardless."

She watched as a small, amused look briefly traced across his face. "You already planned, regardless," he echoed, one eyebrow raised.

"Yup." She replied breezily. "Already planned, with Boston College sweat clothes in the back seat of my car." Seeing that he was playing along, she added, "And you _know_ I'm not borrowing those 3XL gray sweatpants for my own fashion statement."

He chuckled briefly. "Stony never had a chance." Putting down the coffee, he continued, "Which reminds me, how long before I have non-baggy clothes and we can head out?"

"I'm guessing about 30 minutes, now. Depends on how quickly your cargo pants dry." She stood up and started gathering the empty dishes from the small kitchen table, thinking that she'd never known there were fleece-lined cargo pants. She wanted a pair of those herself.

"Okay, then let's plan to leave in about 30 minutes, then." He turned his focus to the laptop, face carefully blank. "By the way, L. has fleece-lined cargoes in women's sizes." Stephanie looked at him and then sighed with amused exasperation. She knew by now that it wasn't ESP—enough people had joked that she mumbled her thoughts out loud—but she decided to play along anyway.

"Jeez, _that's_ the thing you can read directly from my mind?" She threw up her hands in mock exasperation, and was rewarded by seeing him smirk from the corner of her eye. Ranger humor, she thought to herself as she took the dishes to the sink. Rare and charming in its own strange way.

Back to business, Ranger looked over at her. "Steph, I need to print some maps and the DMV forms for my driver's license. Can I use the printer in the dining room?"

Ah, she knew he'd cased her house while walking through. "Yeah, it's the one named 'BigBoi' in the printer list." She saw the corner of his lip twitch. "Mary Alice named it. But, in case you think that's a mistake, the other printer upstairs is 'Andre3000'. And if you hadn't noticed, the router is Spinderella."

At that, he chuckled slightly. "A girl named Mary Alice likes OutKast and listens to hip-hop and rap?"

"Only what I let her listen to," she answered Ranger's amused look. "Well, she's a teenager so that's a polite fiction. But really, she likes music, any kind. She wants to go into the recording business when she grows up, if she doesn't end up in women's pro soccer. It could go either way at this point."

"She's the one who thought she was a horse, right?"

"Yeah, that was a long time ago. But, she's not the least bit apologetic about it. She's gone through a few other phases since then. She's big on reinventing herself every few years." Stephanie went over to the fridge and pulled off a picture from this past summer, when they were at the Cape. "Here, the one on the left with the purple streak in her hair is Mary Alice. The other girl is Angie, who's in college now, if you believe that."

He looked at the picture, almost as though he was committing it to memory. It made Stephanie wonder if, in Ranger's life, all photos were possible targets he might need to trace someday. She couldn't read the look in his eyes when he looked up. "Mary Alice looks a bit like you, Steph. Same facial geometry. Same shape to her lips and eyes."

"Yeah, both she and Sarah, who's the youngest. Sarah was also lucky enough to get my dad's hair, like me. I always wondered why he kept that out-of-fashion crewcut. Then I found out that he was the source of my lifelong hair challenge." She paused, snorting. "After Sarah came home from a play date with ants in her hair, I kept it really short until she started second grade. I didn't want her to get tangled in a shrub in the backyard like I did. Jeez, I still remember my dad having to cut me out of it."

At that, Ranger laughed out loud. "Only you, Babe," he said, handing the picture back to her and looking back down at the computer.

Her heart leapt into her throat yet again. Between yesterday and today, this was becoming a regular feeling. It seemed so natural when he called her "Babe" that it took her breath away. Putting the picture back on the fridge door, she took a moment to steady herself. She resolved that she wouldn't let it mean anything.

A couple of years ago, she'd realized that he might never have meant "Babe" to be the special endearment that she had imagined. She had possibly fallen in love with a fantasy. This time, with this unexpected second chance, she wanted to stay grounded in reality. She stopped for a moment to consider what that meant.

First and foremost, she wanted to truly reach this reserved man, once and for all. She wanted to recover the ease they'd had with each other in the past, and yet keep her heart. She wanted to see if they could have the friendship she'd always imagined, unencumbered by misplaced lust. She nodded to herself, renewing her resolve. She could do this.

Grounding herself again, she looked at the other pictures scattered on the refrigerator door. Angie's picture. The Halloween pictures she'd just put up this weekend. The picture of her father and all the girls last summer. The picture of Lisa standing next to a dinosaur diorama on a school trip. The picture of Mary Lou and her family on Cape Cod. A picture from the last time Lula had visited from Baltimore. There was even a picture from last Christmas with Joe, Amanda and Angelina.

Stephanie wondered wistfully if there would ever be a recent picture of Ranger, here, too. She had an old one at work; but since it was from a distraction job it felt like a work picture. Almost eight years old and fading, it didn't make her happy the way the pictures on her fridge did.

Taking a deep breath, she remembered hearing Ranger say "Earth to Steph" in moments like this, bringing her back from wherever her mind had journeyed. "Earth to myself," she thought. She was pretty sure she hadn't said that last part out loud.

Stephanie looked over at Ranger, who was intently reading something on the laptop. Thinking about what Ranger might need beyond the obvious things—like clothes, a car, and a gun—she figured he probably still needed more information on-the-ground. He'd said he had local informants, but so did she. She went out to the living room to retrieve her laptop to check if she'd gotten any replies from emails she'd sent earlier this morning.

As a member of the Boston PD, there were lines she could reasonably cross, like getting a copy of Fennelly's FTA file from Ranger's bail bondsman. Like making some calls and introducing Ranger to people she thought could maybe help him.

Like talking to Luiza Veiga, the grandmotherly Cape Verdean receptionist at the health clinic on the outskirts of the Dorchester neighborhood where the police had found the men Ranger was accused of shooting. Stephanie expected to see Luiza at a wake she planned to attend later this afternoon as a liaison from the BPD. The wake was unrelated to Ranger's case; it was for a local Cape Verdean store owner who'd died unexpectedly from a heart attack.

Stephanie's instincts, though, were telling her that there was something _interesting _about the fact that Ranger had been found in a car tied to a possible flare-up in Cape Verdean gang activity while he was following Figueroa, a Brazilian fugitive. It wouldn't be the first time that a stray Brazilian or Angolan had gotten swept into the Portuguese-speaking Cape Verdean community, if that's what had happened.

In Stephanie's opinion, the whole situation was odd, even if Ranger weren't a factor. The bodies had been left provocatively on a boundary with a small Hispanic gang. But this shooting wasn't typical of how any of the gangs in the area operated. This was a neighborhood of barely adult boys who knocked over liquor stores, ran numbers and drugs, and stole cars. It wasn't typically a flashpoint for shooting and drive-bys, though such neighborhoods weren't far away.

Fortunately, both gangs in this situation were home-grown—they weren't Maras or ALKN—but the potential for neighborhood violence was obvious. The BPD would be under a lot of pressure to quickly find that the killing was due to an outside player, like Ranger, rather than someone from a local gang who would spark a cycle of retribution.

She wouldn't say anything to Ranger until she had more information. But, her "spidey senses" were going off the chart just thinking about it. In the meantime, she had a couple of helpful names and addresses she'd share with Ranger.

At that moment, she heard the dryer. She got up and headed back to where Ranger was sitting, toward the laundry room that was through another door in the kitchen. As she came in, Ranger got up to follow her. Pulling his clothes from the dryer, she was glad they'd lost the fermented smell between washing and the heat of drying.

Ranger took his clothes from her and, in the small room, immediately stripped off his shirt to change. He paused, holding his own dry shirt in his hands, as he caught her glance. She wasn't sure if her face had been radiating her surprise. Or, if it instead revealed her sudden onslaught of lust at seeing his broad, muscular chest and arms.

After all, it had been quite awhile since she'd seen a male, naked chest at such close quarters. Dazed, she reflected that, even with scars and a tattoo she didn't remember, Ranger's physique was still well-chiseled and… well, perfect. More than perfect….

"Sorry Steph. Used to being by myself. I'll head back to the bathroom to change," she heard him say, his voice low.

She couldn't help herself as her eyes were drawn back down to his smooth, bulging chest and the satin skin that covered his rippled abs. "Yeah, that would be best," she said vaguely while she forcefully pulled her gaze away from the trace of hair that still ran so tantalizingly from his navel down to his waistband. "Good thinking."

He turned and walked from the room, and she couldn't help but notice the bulk of his upper arms and back. They contrasted perfectly with his lean waist and the promise of his well-rounded butt silhouetted under the sweatpants. She closed the dryer door and leaned against it, checking for drool, struggling for a sense of normalcy.

She had to get herself back together. Getting lost in Ranger's raw handsomeness was not going to help anyone. It would just take her back along the path that had broken her heart, and apparently had not been what Ranger had wanted either. Instead, he had a case to solve that would help him overturn the arrest that she saw looming over his life in a worrisome shadow.

She needed to focus on solving that situation, and on renewing their friendship in a sustainable way. These were her strengths; time to focus on the positive.

By the time he returned to the kitchen, she had gotten her breath back to normal, and renewed her resolve. She saw that he'd cleared the table of her notes and the laptop, presumably having secured them in the den. Carrying the pea coat, Ranger was dressed in his dark cargo pants, black T-shirt, and bulky navy-blue cotton sweater. He was back to being the visually stunning yet intentionally impassive man who radiated competent, dangerous strength.

"Okay Steph, I'm ready to roll."

"Okay Ranger." She answered, glad that they were back to normal. "I checked and the local post office will be open for another half hour. I can take your DMV form there, while you go to the international check-cashing place down the street that I'm told is reputable." She paused for him to comment, but he just nodded. "Then we can drive and get you some clothes. The store Darius mentioned is only about 10 minutes away, and it's near a drugstore if you need incidentals."

"I don't have a lot of money, Steph, and I still need a car and some tools of the trade."

"And fortunately, Ranger, these days there are these things called credit cards, and I have a couple." At his pointed glance, she added "You can owe me. You have my address, remember?"

"I still need wheels more than clothes."

"Ranger, were you storing your clothes in your truck when it was stolen?"

He glowered at her, "I had a number of things in my truck when it was stolen."

"Which says to me that, yes, your clothes are now missing, among other things. Seriously, it will take us an hour, maybe less, to get you clothes. Then, I'll drop you off near a place where I think you can get a car cheap, without a lot of questions."

She paused and he started to put on his coat and walk toward the printer in the dining room. Following in his wake, she added, "Just don't tell me the details later. As a friendly local representative of the Boston PD, I think I'm having amnesia about your current driver's license status." She saw his lip twitch in amusement as he grabbed pages of maps from the printer.

They walked toward the front door as Ranger folded his papers and slipped them into various pockets of his pants. "Also, Ranger, as part of that amnesia, I'm in a big fog about how you might have weapons the next time I see you, before the mandatory waiting period has expired." She reached down for a small pad of paper and a pen on the credenza near the front door.

"However, on a completely unrelated matter, after you have a car, I suggest you go visit this guy named Wilfredo Perez, outside of Mission Hill, to get some pointers about the neighborhood. He's usually there on Saturday until around 7pm." He turned to her while she scribbled something and then tore the paper from the pad.

Stephanie was amused at his expression; it was carefully blank in a way that meant he was waiting for her to make sense. She'd seen that expression a lot. Other people might tell her they had no clue what she was talking about. Ranger simply stared at her, waiting for her to crack and tell him what she meant. She found it funny, and couldn't resist adding, "While you're there Ranger, do me a favor: Ask how 'Fredo's grandma is doing."

"Wilfredo's grandma," Ranger echoed, skepticism in his eyes.

"Yeah, she's too young for Medicare and they make too much for Medicaid. I helped him get her on a cheaper health plan that actually covered more of her meds." She paused, handing the torn piece of paper to Ranger. "Here's the address of his shop."

He looked down at the address. Then he flicked his gaze back up to her and his lip twitched briefly in amusement. "Got it."

Stephanie enjoyed the moment, knowing that she'd not only just given Ranger the name of a pawn shop, but she'd spelled the name properly in Spanish. Turning toward the door, she put on her coat and hat, and then pulled her purse onto her shoulder. She told him the alarm code, though she was sure he'd already memorized it from watching her when they arrived. She also handed him a key-ring that she'd pulled from a small cabinet in the corner.

"Here are the keys. This one is for downstairs, and this next one is for up here. I know you don't need them, but my neighbors will call the precinct if they even sense that you're picking the lock outside. Or, Mrs. Arshad's grandson downstairs will attack you with his plastic darts set."

"Good to know."

She continued as they walked downstairs. "If you get a car, Ranger, park it behind mine on the driveway. I try to leave the other side free for Mrs. Arshad and her sons."

"Why don't you park in that big garage that's at the end of the driveway?"

"Oh that," she said with amusement. "No room left in the garage." She smiled to herself as she locked the front door and headed down the walk to her Subaru. "So, Ranger, I'm driving. You can pretend to be calm, again."

She saw him look at her with amusement in his eyes. "That obvious, Babe?"

"You're never obvious," she answered, beeping the car doors open. "Never, ever. You're just who you are. You're Ranger. You're Ricardo Mañoso." She slid into the driver's seat and, with a shy smile, looked at him and said, "You're you."

_To be continued..._


	6. Ch6: Working the Puzzle

_Many thanks to those of you reading along. I'm glad this story is firing your imaginations. Again, continuing thanks to jbspencer06 for enthusiasm and for sharing with me her good eye for characters and motivations. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

* * *

**Chapter 6 - Working the Puzzle**

Sipping on his second coffee since mid-afternoon, Ranger knew that he wasn't as sharp as he'd prefer. A long night in the BPD lockup could do that. Sure, he could function without sleep for a few days, but he was still fighting whatever those assholes had injected in him. Ketamine, for sure. He was now starting to think that the "chaser" they'd added was an opiate like heroin, instead of barbiturates, given the level of irritability and muscle aches he was fighting. Whatever it was, he was not at his best today.

Crap, he thought, this was getting old. It didn't help that he'd been on the road with little sleep for a few weeks. Of course, he was stronger and tougher than most. He knew that was true. However, he reflected with annoyance, lately he was finding that it took longer to rebound. Longer, at least, than when he was a hard-on in his twenties with a brash Army-strong attitude. He'd never reveal that to anyone, especially not the people who hired him for jobs, but there it was.

He looked at the cheap wristwatch he'd bought at a drugstore a few hours ago, along with some other personal supplies. Only 20:00. Eight PM. On a normal stakeout, that meant he had a full shift yet to go. He fought the sense that he was just filling time; that watching the bodega where he'd been knocked-out was a dead end.

He sipped his coffee again. Caffeine and warmth. Even if asking for 'regular' coffee seemed to be code for 'carpet bomb it with sugar and cream.' For now, it was warmth and energy; enough to get him through this evening's vigil. Tomorrow during the day he'd be able to track down more leads. And get some decent goddamn coffee.

Right now, though, he was outside the Allston bodega where he'd been waylaid. He'd followed the maxim he'd learned as an Army Ranger: When you're not sure where to go next, return to the last place where something changed. So, he sat. Frustrated by the fact that he had lost over a full day since the last time he'd been here. Angry at himself that he'd lost his truck, and resigned to the fact that this piece-of-shit car's heater didn't work.

Shrugging to himself, he reflected that at least he had a car. And warm clothes, since Steph had insisted on buying him thermal underwear, wool socks, and gloves, along with the week's worth of jeans and shirts she'd piled up for him at the store.

Admittedly, he needed clothes. But, he'd felt distinctly uncomfortable with her buying clothes for him. It was not how he conducted his business when he was with a woman. He had the money; he just couldn't get to it until Monday. His replacement Platinum card should also arrive by Monday. Surely a new wardrobe could wait a couple of days.

She'd simply told him, yet again, to get over himself while she'd shoved her credit card at the store clerk. Then, she'd given him the receipts with an arch reminder that he could send a check to her house anytime. After which, she'd crossed her arms and insisted that he go back into the fitting room and put on the long underwear, thermal shirt, and warm socks.

He felt his lips twitch in a smile. Her determination that he dress warmly, more than the pictures on her fridge, revealed that she'd spent the last seven years of her life shepherding a group of children. What strange changes time could make.

Sitting in his cold car, Ranger vowed that he'd reimburse Steph for everything, not just the clothes. In truth, he owed her more than money.

Sitting in the jail interrogation room on Friday night, he'd known without a shadow of a doubt that he was royally screwed up the ass. And then she'd entered the room. As was always the case with Stephanie, karma shifted at that moment. In the bleakness of the long day's events he'd assumed that all bridges between them had burned seven years ago in a fire he'd probably set himself. But he'd forgotten what Stephanie was like.

He should have known that she would believe him, that she'd bring hope like a lifesaver and would throw it to him without question. That even more miraculously, she'd offer her house, her food, her money, and her contacts. All to help him; out of the blue.

But, as he was re-learning, when Steph made a friend she didn't go half way. All day, she'd put herself out for him, no questions asked. In fact, he had a car, weapons, and had some cash left over, thanks to Steph's efforts. And, he had reason to smile for the first time in awhile.

He was still amused that she'd steered him to a car repair company that was obviously, to his eyes, the front for a chop shop. At first he'd considered the possibility that she was lost as she'd driven them down deserted streets, past boarded-up buildings and abandoned trash-filled lots.

Then, she'd pulled over to drop him off, showing him where they were on a map and telling him that the car lot was a few blocks away. Oh, and by the way, he shouldn't mention her name. And, oh yeah, she was never there.

Not a problem. Ranger had no difficulty finding the place after he'd walked a couple of blocks and turned the corner. He'd quickly reached an understanding with the squat, chain-wearing former boxer who had unlocked the metal gate for him. Within a half hour Ranger had left the lot with a somewhat lighter wallet. More importantly, he was driving a nondescript car that wasn't on a police blotter. He just had to make sure he wasn't pulled over, since the VIN might not completely pass scrutiny.

He'd wondered if the excessively dodgy nature of the used car lot was an accident; the type of over-the-top criminal endeavor that Steph had always managed to walk into without realizing its magnitude. Or, maybe her brain had regularly short-circuited to obscure dire reality when there was no looking away. Ranger had never been able to quite figure that out.

Regardless, as he'd driven away from the lot in his crappy Chevy, he'd decided that he might as well ride out the streak of Steph's good luck. With that, the next order of business was to visit her friend Wilfredo Perez's shop just outside Mission Hill. Thinking about that after the fact, he smiled. His Babe had gotten slick. And tricky.

He'd been curious what Steph was up to, when she'd stood by her front door and told him to visit her friend Wilfredo. Then she'd slipped him the name and address for a pawn shop. That was clever: she'd sent him to a person who could maybe steer him somewhere he could get weapons off the books, without saying that explicitly.

He'd been charmed by her discreet indirection. Though, frankly, he'd assumed she was passing him to another half-assed fence like her old friend Dougie back in Trenton. Especially after she told him to ask after Wilfredo's grandma. That had all the earmarks of one of Steph's usual quirky, blue collar refugee friends.

Then he'd met Wilfredo. Wiry, with tattoos on his neck and well-muscled arms, Wilfredo had radiated menace as he'd stood under the sign that declared "Casa de Empeños: Pawn and Loans." That sense of menace was reinforced by the hardcore metal grating on the windows, the bar on the door, and the prominent "You Loot, We Shoot" sign on the first case visible from the door.

In fact, Wilfredo had instantly reminded Ranger of his old friend Hector. Thinking of the quick and overwhelming damage that Hector could do, Ranger had quickly assessed Wilfredo's stance and watched as Wilfredo returned the favor. Having established a baseline understanding, Ranger had seen Wilfredo's eyes flick to the round surveillance camera.

Ranger knew that the gesture meant that it was okay to enter. And, that the quick glance was also Wilfredo's warning that Ranger's every move would be watched. Just in case Ranger hadn't figured that out already.

He'd nodded at Wilfredo and moved into the shop, scanning for hidden threats. There had only been one other shopper—a skinny blond teenager scoping out a locked case full of Xbox and Playstation hardware. Ranger made a show of looking at the merchandise. He pretended to inspect the dusty guitars on the wall while he scoped out a couple of fighting knives in a reinforced glass display case under the musical instruments.

Amidst cases of random junk—including answering machines, jewelry, custom pool cues, Pez dispensers, and crystal glassware—Ranger located the handcuffs, stun-guns, and other tools for which he could barter. That is, after he secured a gun.

As soon as the teenager left the shop, Ranger had glanced at Wilfredo. As though they were old colleagues, Ranger had leaned casually against one of the cases. In the working class _puertorriqueño_ Spanish he'd grown up with in Newark, Ranger said conversationally, "We have a mutual friend who suggested I come to shop here for what I need, and asked me to enquire about your grandmother's health."

"Is that so?" Wilfredo had asked as he stared, unblinking. "Do you always do what this friend asks? And... Is there a reason why you, yourself would enquire?" Ranger had called it right; Wilfredo's accent in Spanish was definitely Puerto Rican. For the most part his grandparents' Cuban accent was only useful in Miami; elsewhere it marked him as a snob. Or worse. Someone who Wilfredo would have closed off in a heartbeat.

Ranger nodded at Wilfredo's questions, answering casually, "I find it's often a good idea to try what our mutual friend suggests. In this case, she mentioned specifically that I should come here to look for some tools I need." Ranger glanced at the locked gun case, then back to Wilfredo. "And, she specifically wanted me to check on your grandma, that her healthcare plan is working as expected."

Wilfredo had smiled at that. Not a particularly friendly smile, but Ranger wasn't looking to find a best friend. Or, if he did find a best friend, it was going to be metal with a barrel and a trigger.

"Yes, there are people who surprise you, and it's good to listen to their advice. They know more than you might think," Wilfredo agreed. Then he'd pushed a button that engaged a lock on the front door, and flicked another that Ranger assumed made the shop look closed from the outside.

After that, they'd gotten down to business, discussing the type of guns Ranger preferred, how he wore them, and the other particulars of his typical arsenal. Wilfredo probed regarding his ID and Ranger countered with his need for weapons that would not be traceable back to a crime. A bit later, Ranger had a medium-weight Glock and shoulder holster. He'd also selected a smaller gun he could strap to his ankle, or put in his waistband for a quick pull.

While negotiating a price, Ranger was able to add a couple pairs of cuffs, a stun-gun, a used bulletproof vest, and a pack of clip-on pepper/teargas canisters. The amount was only a bit more than Ranger would have paid to the used weapons dealer he usually visited in Newark, a man he'd saved from a stint in prison through his testimony.

Ranger had paid and then put away his purchases, either on his body or in the canvas bag that Wilfredo slid across the counter to him. Then, Wilfredo had pressed an intercom button and Ranger tensed. He'd quickly considered his options, knowing that Wilfredo had sold him bullets but hadn't loaded the guns. Ranger turned to face the backroom door, so he'd see what he was up against.

He relaxed his stance when a tiny nut-brown woman emerged from the door, by herself. Wilfredo introduced him to his grandmother, his abuela. She walked over, and Ranger noted that she barely reached his shoulders in height. She reached out a thin hand and patted Ranger's arm. "You are Estefanie's friend," she said in Spanish, while nodding. "She can tell if people are good inside, or not." Her bird-like hand had reached over to rest over his heart. "She sees in here."

Ranger had just stared at Wilfredo's abuela, not sure what to say. He'd been expecting thanks for visiting the shop, or news about the health plan. This was oddly personal. Well, when in doubt, say nothing. That was usually the best approach, unless he needed to turn the tables. No need for that with little abuelita.

She'd smiled at Ranger as though she knew what he was thinking, and lowered her hand. "Tell Estefanie that I am doing well, thanks to her help. I can afford to take the whole pills now, not cut in half to save the money."

She paused, rubbing her upper lip with her thumb and index finger. Then, raising her head to stare directly at Ranger, she added thoughtfully, "Also tell Estefanie this: Same as her, I see into people's hearts. I think that she can keep trusting yours, but only if you are willing to trust it also."

"Abuela," Wilfredo said, small wrinkles around his eyes betraying amusement, "this man has come here to shop for practical items, not for the advice of an _hechicera_, a sorceress."

Shaking her finger at her grandson, she answered, "But some people, they search for truth wherever they are. It kills their soul to not find it. Sometimes those people need to hear what is real without having to figure it out for themselves." She exhaled forcefully. "Besides, if he is Estefanie's friend, he already knows at least one _hechicera_, though maybe he is not aware."

"It's alright," Ranger interjected, seeing Wilfredo's frown. He suddenly pictured Stephanie's Grandma Mazur, and briefly wondered where she was. With a mental shake, he replied, "I've known Stephanie for a long time; I know _la magia_, the magic she accepts in her life." He turned to the small woman, "I hear you, and the sincerity of your words. I appreciate your advice," he said with the grace that his own grandmother Mañoso had demanded of him.

"That's all I ask, young man. Today, if you've paid Wilfredo's bill and you take my advice, then we've had a good exchange. All is in balance. But, I think you should stop by again sometime, and I'll tell you about the other things I see in your heart."

At that point, Wilfredo had shaken his head. With a frown and a visible flourish, he'd unlocked the front door and flipped switches under the counter, reopening the shop for business. Wilfredo's grandmother had smiled, a sparkle in her deep espresso eyes. "I think, Estefanie's young man, that we are done for today. Go with God." She'd turned while talking, and disappeared again through the backroom door.

Ranger had left, with thanks, passing a large woman carrying a computer into the store. He'd felt far more confident with the familiar weight of weapons on his body.

Ever since that conversation a couple hours ago, though, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Stephanie. Sitting outside the Allston bodega, he shifted in his seat to see if he could clear his mind and concentrate on the stakeout. But he could still hear Steph's voice from earlier today, echoing in his mind. _"You're Ranger. You're Ricardo Mañoso. You're you." _

It reminded him uncomfortably of what was probably the last time he'd been at her apartment in Trenton, before he'd left for a year and returned to find her gone permanently from the city. She had been in her kitchen, laughing, telling him that he was going to succeed at the impossible yet again because he was Batman and he couldn't fail.

He'd snapped. There was no other way to describe it. He finally said what had been building up for months. Like a murderer unable to forget the scene of the crime, he remembered her smile turning to hurt as he'd pinned her with his eyes. "You always want me to be Batman, Steph," he'd ground out, his frustration coiled like a spring. "For a few years, it's made me want to be better than I am. But, I'm just a man. A dangerous man, a driven man. But, not a guy in a high-tech suit playing the dark hero. That was just the image you needed to fit me into your whitebread world."

Her cornflower blue eyes had been wide, looking bruised as she'd looked back at him. "But, Ranger, I don't understand," she'd said slowly. "It's like how I pretend I'm Wonder Woman living with Rex the Wonder Hamster. But you don't even have to pretend. What I meant..."

He'd cut her off. "What you _meant_, Babe, was to have a little fantasy in your life." After he said that, he knew it wouldn't be fair to say what else he thought. Which was that she wanted the comfort of a man in the 'Burg like Joe, with the added thrill of an exotic, dark-skinned Cuban on the side. Why accuse her of that, when he was just as guilty of wanting the tantalizing magical life that she'd implied? Even at the time, he knew he wasn't being fair.

After all, hadn't he craved the physical and visual contrast between their skin when they were hand-in-hand, or body-to-body? Her cries during sex thrilled him, drove him. He'd felt complete when he was inside her. Rescuing her from impossible situations made him feel like the world's biggest, strongest hero. Awakening with her curly head and her alabaster hand on his chest had made him feel like he was home.

He'd kept needing to walk away, to push her away, to shove himself away, just to keep from succumbing. Why accuse her of his own weaknesses?

So, that afternoon back in Trenton, he'd said a few platitudes to smooth over the moment, made sure to call her "Babe" so she'd feel he was still the man she knew, and left with a promise to call. Oddly, he didn't remember if he actually _had_ called her back. It was rare that he forgot things like that.

With the distance of seven years, he now suspected he'd gotten that conversation all wrong. After all, she was one of the few people in his life who'd let him into her life as a friend, regardless of what she called him. And, wasn't _he _the one who'd always dealt with her under an alias, as Henry Higgins—shit, as _Ranger_—since they'd first met? All she'd done was to create her own alias for him.

What she hadn't known at the time, what nobody knew, was that Ranger was chafing under _all _of his aliases. For more than a year he'd been resisting the very image he'd created for himself.

By choice, he wasn't Captain Mañoso from the Army anymore. In Trenton, he'd become _Ranger_, the enigmatic hard man who was always in control. The man who drove fast cars, carried concealed, and retrieved seasoned criminals for their bounty.

The fierce man who lived and worked in a steel-and-glass fortress. The warrior who'd built a company that required him to spend endless hours on paperwork and staffing issues. The gun-for-hire who'd increasingly felt that the lifestyle he'd constructed was sterile and confining. The lifestyle that Ranger had made.

The ultimate irony was that the name _Ranger _had started as a jest. It was Tank's way of saying that his former commander still acted like an Army Ranger, just in civilian clothes. If Rick didn't want to be called Mañoso because of his family or use his Army Ranger handle—_El Pardo_—anymore, Tank would simply call him _Ranger_.

It was a conundrum. Ranger still often felt like _El Pardo_, short for _El Leopardo_, with that name's nod to his cat-like stealth and speed, and his ability to operate with independent and violent dispatch. But, here in the States he didn't want to be that man. His family lived here. It was a land of shopping malls, T-ball games after school, and the assumption that violence and crimes warranted time in prison.

It wasn't a land where he was an operative tasked with using any means necessary to clear the path for an occupying force. If he captured someone and dragged them across borders, it was because they were already in the system, in violation of bail. He needed to step away from being _El Pardo _because he wasn't ready to be one of the grizzled, cynical soldiers of fortune he'd encountered overseas.

He had also grown weary of the play on words that, in the Army way, was embedded in the name. In this case, it was the Spanish word for brown, _pardo_. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. Ranger was a brown man who could be hidden in plain sight in countries full of brown people. An American Latino who they could put undercover in Iraq, Syria, or the tribal areas straddling Pakistan and Afghanistan. Well, maybe.

Too many nicknames, too many personas…. But, in the final analysis, he did need an alias to separate the person he had to be—to do the work he did—from his core self. So, after a couple of years of soul-searching on the road, he was comfortable again being called _Ranger_. He'd laid that discomfort to rest. The name embodied the strength and resolve of his Army Ranger background. And, of course, it was convenient since so many of his domestic contacts already knew that name.

And well, screw it: The name also reminded him of Tank's exasperated humor. Tank was one of the few people with the integrity and the sheer guts to tell Ranger when he was losing it. He'd wear the name _Ranger_ in recognition of that bravery, also.

So sure, names had meaning. But what harm was there in Stephanie calling him _Batman_? If he was starkly honest with himself, he hadn't been truly angry that she'd called him by a nickname. No, with self-awareness gained from the past several years, he now understood that he had longed too deeply for a woman who knew him well enough to use his _own _name. To know him as _himself_. No make-believe heroic persona in the middle.

Well, he grimaced, that was hardly her fault. She knew his full, given name: Ricardo Carlos Mañoso. The Cuban name with which he'd been born. Exotic to her, like his dark skin; like his dark lifestyle. She even knew a couple of his other aliases, like Marc Pardo and Carl Taino, though she didn't know their significance.

Taking another sip of his coffee to stay warm in his car outside the bodega, Ranger reflected sourly that, through it all, he'd never told her what his closest friends called him. He wondered for a moment, if he'd stayed that day in Trenton and asked her to call him Rick, just Rick... Would things have turned out differently?

Again, being honest with himself, probably not. In retrospect, he could see that he'd been struggling against himself, against the image he'd created for himself. Mr. Suave, undercover operative _extraordinaire_ by day; CAT-boot-wearing skip tracer at night. In the final analysis, he'd been struggling against the constraints of the very self-image and business he'd built. And, working harder every day to hide that fact.

And Steph… well, Steph had been stuck like a teenager, rebelling against her upbringing in her crappy apartment and taking increasingly dangerous risks with her life. He was decidedly uncomfortable knowing that he'd helped her float along. Yet, even after he'd finally seen the recklessness buried in her refreshing, unusual approach to life, he'd still been drawn to her unpredictability despite himself.

Dammit, be honest: He'd been unable to stay away, even knowing that she was really Joe Morelli's woman. Even knowing that part of her rebelliousness was to fling herself into danger and then expect her personal Batman to rescue her. So, in the final analysis, even staying with her as _Rick_ would not have helped. Nothing else about their situation would have been solid.

Yeah, so he'd been right to leave Trenton when he did. The job had taken a little over a year, but honestly it had taken that long before he'd finally felt like he'd returned to himself. He'd come back to Trenton feeling ready to resume his life. Only to find that life had moved along, not waiting for him to get his shit together.

But, he hesitated, what would have happened if they'd met for the first time now, as the people they'd become?

At that moment, Ranger's attention snapped back to the stakeout in his cold, crappy car. He watched as a couple of men entered the bodega. He could see their silhouettes under the street light by the store's front door. One of them looked blond and skinny under his coat, so not Figueroa. Not any of Ranger's targets. He wasn't sure about the other man so he watched through the store's front window, waiting for when they'd turn to the cash register.

He set down his coffee, which had gotten lukewarm, and crossed his arms for warmth. Leaning back in the car seat, he unconsciously positioned his right hand under the flap of his coat in case he needed to pull the Glock from its holster. He did a quick scan of the street where he was parked, then looked back at the store.

A few more customers trickled in, this time all women. They were speaking to each other so he rolled down the window to listen. Caribbean; probably one of the French islands. An earlier customer, an old man, came out. Finally, through the store window, he saw the face of the second man who'd gone in with the skinny blond. He wasn't any of Ranger's targets, either.

Ranger relaxed, puffing out a breath in a column of steam that fogged as though he'd just exhaled from a cigarette. He took another look at his watch. 20:10. Ten minutes since the last time he looked. When had he gotten this impatient? He used to be renowned for his ability to sit almost motionless for hours, only the regular movement of his eyes betraying his active attention to the scene.

He wondered if that had been part of his problem with this particular stakeout the first time. Realizing that he needed to ground himself, he decided to take the moment of downtime to call Steph. He should have called her earlier to let her know what was going on. However, it felt odd; he wasn't used to checking in with anyone.

Also, he told himself as he pulled out the phone, she'd said she needed to go to a wake this afternoon, so he'd known she wouldn't be available. He put in the earbud he'd bought at the drugstore and, without thinking, tapped-in a number on the phone. He heard the first ring before he realized that he'd called Stephanie's Trenton number from years ago. His fingers remembered how to find her, after all this time.

"Hello?" he heard Stephanie's voice answer. "Who is this?" Ranger heard voices in the background. "Ranger, is that you? Are you okay?"

"Babe," he answered, suddenly unsure why he'd called. He heard clattering on her end, and voices. "I'm fine, Steph. Are you still at the wake? I can call back." He consciously began to relax his hand where it clenched the phone, preparing to hang up.

"No, this is perfect timing," she answered, her voice speaking over the others in the background. "We're just getting ready for dinner." He heard the sound of her phone rubbing against cloth, and then her muffled voice, "No, Sarah, you can't wear your Halloween costume to dinner tonight. Nobody else will be wearing theirs, and besides you found out last week that you can't really see your food when you're wearing it."

She returned, her voice back to normal. "Sorry about that Ranger. Where are you? I'm assuming the car worked out alright. Or, do you need a ride?"

"No, Steph, I don't need a ride. I'm okay with the car and with the rest of my shopping." He was being intentionally vague in case her phone was tapped. It reminded him of the times he'd call her during long stakeouts in Trenton just for the human contact, even though he couldn't tell her any details.

"So, Steph, how was the wake? Open casket?" He heard her laugh; the one that made him think of what she must have been like as a girl.

"Ranger, I may be a nut, but I'm not my Grandma Mazur. At least, not yet." He heard what sounded like a pile of silverware being put on a table. Then her muffled voice: "Lisa, take these, please."

"Steph, I should let you go…"

"No Ranger, wait," she interrupted, "First off, I'm not sure if I was clear that you're absolutely welcome to join us for dinner, but you are. You're family. Second, I want to tell you what I heard at the wake. Do you have time?"

"Sure Steph," he answered, settling in for one of her stories. He was prepared to hear about riots at the funeral home, unexpected hook-ups, toupee mishaps, exploding taxidermy... Really, he thought he was prepared to hear about anything whatsoever. But, he actually wasn't prepared for the direction her conversation took.

"So, Ranger, the men you're accused of shooting—falsely I might add—have Cape Verde connections, but they're not from the Cape Verde community around here."

"Wait Steph, slow down. I thought you were telling me about the wake."

"I am. It was a wake for a respected older man in the local Cape Verde community, near the area where the shooting occurred. Anyhow, some of the folks who know everything in the community were there. So I asked some questions." Stephanie paused as Ranger heard a voice that sounded a lot like Steph's tell her that everything was under control, so she could take her call in peace.

"Okay," Stephanie continued, and he heard a door close. He imagined that she was in the hallway to her bedroom. To his bedroom….

"Anyhow, Ranger, they told me that one of the guys who was shot is from the Cape Verde neighborhood in Fall River, which is where you said Figueroa had travelled. That guy, the one who was shot, sounds like a nasty piece of work. His name was Manny Pereira and apparently was a petty hoodlum as a boy. But, more recently he was acquitted of two different rape charges in Fall River, and was a person of interest in another around the same time."

"Interesting. Go on."

"So nobody is very sad that he's dead, though they don't like how it happened. Then, the other guy who was killed was actually Brazilian, though apparently he lived in this neighborhood for a few years so people remember him here. His name was D'Silva. One woman's niece dated him briefly, and said he was from the state of Mato Grosso in Brazil. She thought he had a really nice accent."

She snorted at that, then continued, "If I remember right from the documents I dug up Friday night, that's the same state in Brazil where your guy Figueroa came from originally. And, that piqued my interest, though I know that's really tenuous. After all, it's kinda like assuming that I know everyone from the state of New Jersey."

"It just seemed like it, sometimes," he said, amused, while processing what she'd told him. If what she said was true, it strongly hinted that the dead men Ranger was accused of shooting were actually Figueroa's clean-up. It confirmed that Ranger hadn't actually been thrown into the middle of a gang war, for what that was worth. And, it also highlighted that Figueroa—or someone with him—was willing to kill, but hadn't killed Ranger.

"Ha ha, very funny," Stephanie retorted to his jab about New Jersey, though Ranger could hear the amusement in her voice. "But wait, I almost forgot: D'Silva's former girlfriend also said that he used to work at the bodega where you got nabbed, until he got fired for probably raiding the cash drawer. So he'd know that neighborhood."

The pieces clicked in Ranger's mind, just as she said, "So, Ranger, I think they got you at that bodega because D'Silva knew that neighborhood, not necessarily because Figueroa is anywhere nearby."

He nodded along with her words. He'd forgotten how astonishingly good Stephanie was at getting people to tell her exactly the details that mattered. And how she could put seemingly unrelated pieces together so quickly.

"That makes sense, Steph. I'm actually outside the bodega right now. I haven't heard any Portuguese for well over two hours." He put his seatbelt on while he spoke. "This is probably a dead end, so I'm going to pack it in for tonight." He shook his head at the grinding sound the wheels made as he turned them to pull out of the on-street parking space. "It's about 15 minutes to your place, right?"

"Probably more like 25 minutes, with the twisty roads and traffic lights. Then again, you might get all green lights. If you see a sign for the Jamaicaway, take it; it's faster. But, Ranger, call if you get lost; the roads and street signs are confusing. It took me about a year before I stopped getting lost coming home from that direction."

He chuckled under his breath. "Thanks, Steph, will do," he'd said, then ended the call. As he pulled into traffic he smirked, picturing her glaring with narrowed eyes at the phone in her hand. He could almost hear her railing against his bad phone manners. Focusing on the street signs as he drove, Ranger mused about these little moments of familiarity.

It was surprisingly comfortable. Not at all like being around his family, whose intimate knowledge of him entwined with the barbed wire of their expectations and veiled disappointment. Instead, with Stephanie he sensed acceptance, even while she noted his idiosyncrasies. Even when she told him to get over himself. Maybe especially because she did.

He remembered now that part of what had intrigued him was that, at her core, she wasn't afraid of him as a person. She would go buy guns with him, have dinner with him, be alone with him in his car, let him stay in her apartment, and basically agree to help him whenever he asked.

And, she'd call him on his shit. It had been refreshing, since only a few people dared to talk back to him. Even fewer would deliberately joke with him the way she did. No other women, that's for sure.

Which was the other completely intriguing thing about her. Out of all the women he'd known, she was the only one who was fearless of him _until_ he'd started putting the moves on her. And then she got skittish. It was the opposite of how virtually every other woman reacted to him. It had become a fun game when he'd first figured it out. Until it became more.

In a world that was drearily predictable, she was a puzzle. An addictive inconsistency.

As he finally pulled into her driveway, another brief, ironic smile traced across his lips. His car, a dinged-up Chevy, was noticeably crappier than hers. He barked out a laugh as he further noted that _he _was the one driving a U.S. made car, not her. Could this be more ridiculously perfect? He got out of the car and headed up the walk to her house. To the home of his unresolved paradox.

_To be continued..._


	7. Ch7: Working the Room

_Thanks again to all of you for your support and interest in this story. Trust me that I might not have gotten as far as this chapter without your comments, encouragement, and thoughts. The space twixt the idea and the execution can be a chasm, but for the bridge built of belief. Special thanks again to jbspencer06 for lending me her insights, which have been a great reality check. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

* * *

**Chapter 7: Working the Room**

Stephanie was in the kitchen with Lisa and Mary Alice, pulling together dessert for the table, when she felt tingling at the back of her neck. A recently rediscovered feeling that had been missing for years. Ranger was nearby. At that moment, she heard the downstairs door close.

Well versed in the creaks and clunks this old house made, she knew that if she were in the living room she'd hear Ranger coming up the stairs. People usually couldn't avoid making a sound, even if they tip-toed up. Of course, since this was Ranger, maybe she wouldn't hear him, after all. Probably he'd already mapped out all the creaking boards and squeaking stair joists so he could float over her stairs silently like a ghost.

"Do you think that's Ranger, mom?" Mary Alice asked. Though close to college age, she'd been as wide-eyed as a little girl when Stephanie had told her this morning that Ranger might be coming to stay with them for a few days.

"I think so, honey. We'll know in a couple of minutes."

Lisa looked over at them both, "I don't remember Ranger," she said in her serious ten-year-old voice. She brushed a lock of her wispy, sandy-colored hair back from her forehead. She looked just like her father Albert at that moment.

Mary Alice smiled, "That's because he was from Trenton. You were still a munchkin when we moved here." Seeing Lisa's glower, Mary Alice giggled. "Okay, you were only about three years old. You have to be at least seven before you're allowed to meet someone like Ranger."

"Mary Alice," Stephanie tapped her lightly with a serving spoon. "You're making up pseudo rules again." She turned the spoon and then held it out to Mary Alice. "Can you please finish getting dessert ready for me?"

"Sure mom," Mary Alice answered, winking at Lisa. "We got this."

"Yeah, we got this," Lisa echoed, her face slightly flushed. Mary Alice flashed a broad grin at her sister and put her arm around her shoulder. Lisa smiled shyly in reply.

"Thank you both," Stephanie smiled back and then headed into the dining room. Just as she entered she heard the clank of keys being set on the entry table by the front door. Her friend and neighbor Darius had pushed back from the dining room table to get a view of the front door, and started to get up. His brown eyes focused toward the front door with suspicion. Stephanie maneuvered through the cluttered room, squeezing behind Darius's seat on her way to the living room. "Darius," she said, putting her hands briefly on his shoulders, "stay put, it's just my friend Ranger; I mentioned he was coming home for a late dinner."

"Uh huh," Darius replied as Stephanie felt him settle back into his seat, his large chestnut-hued hands ready-for-action on the table. To her, Darius was her kind-hearted friend who had become family over the years. They had a bond forged from doing favors for each other, seeing each other through difficult times, and helping with each other's children.

Stephanie forgot sometimes that, at six-foot-four and 240 muscular pounds, Darius could instantly look formidable. As he was doing at the moment. She followed his angled gaze through the living room toward the front door, where she saw Ranger shrugging off his coat. She heard Darius murmur under his breath, "Well, I guess I see why you needed to borrow sweats that were extra large."

Stephanie patted her friend's shoulders. "C'mon Darius, you were here when Randy Briggs visited for that job interview. I know people of all sizes and shapes." She felt his shoulders move in a brief laugh and tapped him lightly again with her fingertips. Then she continued toward the door between the dining and living rooms.

Arriving in that doorway at the same time as Ranger, Stephanie suddenly felt his presence as though she'd had a second soul slammed into her body. His physical closeness took her breath away. She could smell the soap he'd used this morning mingled with coffee and the scent she remembered as pure Ranger.

As she stood next to his large frame in his heavy cargo pants, CAT boots, and thick cabled sweater, she was struck to her very core by how _real_ he was.

He had stopped in the doorway, scanned quickly through the room, and then settled his gaze on her. His face was blank, though an expression flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. She couldn't tell, but perhaps it was simply exhaustion. The sound of clattering and muted voices came from the kitchen.

"Full house, Steph," he said in a blankly ironic tone she remembered well. She suspected he was reacting to Darius, and Stephanie realized belatedly she should have told Ranger that Darius was here. Since Darius was family too, she hadn't given his presence a second thought. But Darius knew that he was at home in her house; she had forgotten that Ranger didn't yet feel that way.

So she looked Ranger in the eyes and smiled her welcome. She reached out to take his hand in hers, feeling the pulse of energy that always came with his touch. "Ranger, I'm glad you made it home." From experience, she knew to reach for his left hand, leaving his preferred weapons arm free. His hand was cold, but its stiffness was part of his overall posture.

She squeezed his fingers slightly. "Ranger, this is Darius, the neighbor I mentioned. He's a strength and conditioning coach for the football team at Boston College. His daughter Jaleesa is next to him, and then that's Sarah, my youngest." She heard a clunk and muttering from the kitchen. Shaking her head as she decided to not investigate, she added, "The sounds you hear in the kitchen are my next oldest girl, Lisa, along with Mary Alice."

Ranger nodded at the room, his face blank, his eyes settling on Darius. For his part, Darius had sat back in his chair. On the surface he looked relaxed, but experience told Stephanie that Darius's position made it easier to spring out of his chair if needed. She had no doubt that Ranger was reading it that way, also.

"Darius, this is Ranger." Stephanie said, locking eyes with Darius across the table. "He was one of my best friends back in Trenton. I'm really glad that he's staying with us for a few days," she said, pointedly.

"Ranger," Darius nodded back. "It's always good to meet one of Steph's friends. They visit a lot." He paused, drawling, "I reckon I was away the last time you visited. I think I would've remembered." Steph scowled at Darius, one degree away from her death glare. In her periphery she saw Ranger glance at her with a raised eyebrow, a speculative look in his eye.

"Perhaps you _were_ away," Ranger said in a low, quiet voice as his attention swiveled back to Darius. "Or, are you here for dinner every night?" Ranger's posture had seemed to relax, but she knew it was a deceptive pose, like Darius's. She'd never been able to figure out how Ranger managed to look relaxed while making his muscles seem even more bulky.

Sheesh, she thought to herself, men were ridiculous sometimes. She almost expected them to spring antlers from their heads and start charging at each other. What they both needed to remember was that they were both welcome here because this was _her _house; her territory.

On the kitchen-side of the table, Darius's daughter Jaleesa looked wide-eyed at Sarah, who shrugged. Both nine years old, they had grown up as next door neighbors and best friends, often communicating in gestures rather than words. Jaleesa's heart shaped face showed confusion under her mass of flaxen curls. Sarah's hazel eyes were darting between the two men, as though trying to figure out where to place her bet.

Okay, Stephanie thought to herself. Enough is enough.

She tugged gently at Ranger's hand, noting idly that the bandage was loose. "Come in, Ranger, sit down next to me. There's plenty of food left. Darius is just in a cranky mood because the Eagles lost in overtime." She glared at Darius again. "And, Darius, my friends do visit. Ranger is here visiting. So, you didn't miss him, after all."

"Steph, I can come back later," Ranger said quietly.

"Huh? Ranger, don't be silly. Why would you leave? You just got here. You need to eat." She pulled at his hand again, and this time he followed her. A slight, smile dusted across his lips briefly. "There's baked chicken over potatoes, asparagus, carrots, salad, and it looks like there's some bread left also. Or, we have some leftover beef stew we could heat in the microwave if you'd prefer that."

"No, what you have looks fine," he answered slowly, looking at the bowls and platter that she'd left on the table since Ranger was on his way.

She transferred a clean plate, napkin, and silverware to the table, in front of the chair beside hers. Technically it was where Mary Alice had been sitting, but Stephanie knew that Mary Alice would roll with it. Ranger sat down when Stephanie did, and he started to fill his plate.

As Stephanie poured Ranger a glass of water from the pitcher, Sarah piped up from the other side of the table. "Hello, Mr. Ranger," she said in her nine-year-old voice, her fearless hazel eyes assessing Ranger from under her curly mop of Plum hair. "Mary Alice says that you're wicked cool, and that you could probably show me how to do the Aikido heaven-and-earth throw that I can't figure out."

Stephanie felt Ranger shift his attention to Sarah. "You practice Aikido?" he asked as he levered a piece of chicken onto his fork.

"Yeah, at the afterschool program. And Lisa and I both go swimming there, too." She made a face. "And homework, they make us do that, too."

Ranger nodded as he swallowed. "Homework is good. Aikido is good, too. Teaches you how to pay attention to your surroundings so you can avoid confrontations, and how to use attackers' energy against them."

"Yeah," Sarah nodded, "and it's fun."

"It's a good program," Darius added, "I know their PhysEd director. He used to work part-time with me over in the BC athletic program." Stephanie was grateful that he was obviously trying to smooth over the initial awkwardness between himself and Ranger.

Ranger was about to reply when Mary Alice and Lisa appeared in the doorway. Mary Alice was balancing a tray with a large bowl of fruit and a can of Cool Whip, while Lisa carried a serving plate of puff pastries.

"Greetings from the kitchen, earthlings," Mary Alice said with her usual flourish as she concentrated on keeping her tray level. "Sorry for the delay, but we had a mishap with some rebel strawberries." Lisa rolled her eyes while Mary Alice set the tray on the table. Lisa put down her tray while Mary Alice continued, "All adults in the room will be happy to know that the rebellion was completely mopped up and there's no evidence left behind." She looked up with a mischievous smile at Stephanie. Then her smile widened as she looked beyond Stephanie.

"Wow, you're Ranger!" Mary Alice exclaimed, "I mean, of course you are. But, you're exactly how I remembered you. I knew you were going to be here, but this is so cool. I'm glad you're going to stay with us," she enthused, her face beaming.

Stephanie saw Ranger nod toward Mary Alice as he finished chewing. She knew that his calm expression was meant to put people at ease. Stephanie smiled to herself, knowing that it also meant that he felt more at ease in his surroundings.

"I'm Mary Alice," her daughter continued, breathless. "I don't know if you remember me. I was a little kid, then. But you were mom's friend. She always used to talk about you."

Lisa looked askance at her older sister, then shook her head as she started the platter of pastries around the table followed by the bowl of fruit from Mary Alice's tray. Finally, she sat back down in her seat, with a put-upon huff that reminded Stephanie so much of her own mother that she almost laughed out loud.

Ranger caught Stephanie's eyes for a moment, then looked back at Mary Alice. "I remember you, too, Mary Alice," he said thoughtfully. "It's nice to see you." Then, he added with a wrinkle between his brows, "But, I didn't really know your mom very well…."

"Ranger," Stephanie interjected softly. "She means me, not Val." Ranger's expression cleared as Mary Alice pulled out a spare chair next to Darius and sat down, a smile still on her face.

"So, you've obviously met Mary Alice," Stephanie said with a smile. "This is Lisa on my other side, who baked the pastries for us tonight." As Lisa looked up from spooning fruit over one of her pastries, Stephanie met her gaze and said, "Lisa, this is my friend Ranger from back in Trenton. He's the friend I told you about, who'll be staying with us for a few days."

"Hi," Lisa said, leaning forward for the Cool Whip as she looked over at Ranger, a wisp of sandy hair falling across her cheek. "Nice to meet you." She paused slightly. "You have big muscles." At that, Darius burst out laughing, along with Mary Alice.

"Lisa," Stephanie exclaimed, trying to hide her own amusement. "Is that how I taught you to greet people? 'Hi, nice to meet you, you have big muscles'?"

As she said that, she reached out to tousle Lisa's sandy blonde hair and mouthed a kiss, so the serious-minded girl would know she was being teased. Thank heavens Lisa hadn't picked up the Kloughn family habit of dithering, though she definitely had their propensity for blurting out awkward observations. Stephanie glanced at Ranger, and was relieved that he looked amused.

"Not to worry, Steph," Ranger said with a slight smirk. "She's just calling 'em as she sees 'em." He reached out for his glass of water. "At least she didn't say what big teeth I have."

At that, Stephanie started laughing, and even Lisa chuckled a bit. Stephanie hugged Lisa briefly, then reached over to start making her own dessert. She noted that, as usual, Mary Alice, Sarah, and Darius were just having fruit, while Jaleesa was doing make-your-own fruit pastry along with Lisa and Stephanie.

Looking over, she noticed that Ranger had finished eating already. There weren't even crumbs left behind. At her gesture, he declined seconds, but then reached for a dessert plate. To her astonishment, he lifted a pastry to his plate, and then spooned fruit over it. He looked at Stephanie and winked, of all things. Then he tilted his head to look at Lisa.

"Thank you, Lisa. I don't get dessert every day. No matter what anyone says, _this _is the perfect welcome." He then proceeded to slice a forkful of pastry and fruit, and began eating.

Stephanie looked over at Lisa, whose face indicated that she'd found a new hero. Amused and also grateful for Lisa's happiness, Stephanie thought "Ranger strikes again." She'd forgotten how Ranger could unexpectedly flash from his hard-man exterior into moments that were so gracious that it took her breath away.

Stephanie started eating her own dessert, sighing audibly in the back of her throat in satisfaction. She noticed Darius and Ranger both shifting in their seats, so tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. Her attention was pulled back by Mary Alice, who piped up, "Mom, I forgot to tell you," she said around a mouthful of fruit. "I managed to scrounge up a few more tickets, so I can have five people at the finals."

"Wow, that's great news," Stephanie answered. She turned to Ranger, "Mary Alice's soccer team won the regional and eastern state championships this year, and is going to play in the state finals in two weeks."

"Yeah," Mary Alice said, dancing in her chair, "this old high-school sweatshirt, it's like my good-luck Letter Sweater. Today's game was like a victory lap."

Darius swatted her shoulder. "Now, you know, it's not good to get too ahead of yourself. Your head swells up and you just get careless. And, don't you forget that it's the whole team that keeps you in the game, not one player."

"Yes, Coach Butler," Mary Alice answered with mock seriousness. Then she added, "But I did try that spin-out thing you showed me, and it was awesome. I totally took the other team by surprise."

He smiled at her. "Now you're just buttering me up. But, it's true that people don't expect you to run football routes on a soccer field. When you get to the college level, though, tricks like that won't get you as far. It's perspiration and teamwork all the way, baby girl."

"I know. But I'm looking forward to it. The U-Mass freshman coach was at the game today, and I really like her. I'm going to enjoy playing there." Mary Alice said, finishing the last bite of her dessert. "It's totally wicked that I'll get paid to go to college just because I like to run around in shin pads and kick a soccer ball. Now I just have to choose a major," she laughed at herself as she slid back from the table, grabbing empty plates as she went.

Stephanie felt Ranger leaning close. "Babe, did I keep you away from her game, today?" he asked quietly, under the sound of the conversation continuing around the table.

Stephanie smiled and looked at Ranger, putting her hand on his forearm, "No, not to worry. It was a late afternoon game. I even had time to go grocery shopping after I dropped you off, and still got there before the first kick."

He nodded, "Good," and his eyes looked from her to the kitchen door. Even more quietly, he added, "I do remember her, you know. You've done a good job."

That pleased her more than she could say, so she just squeezed his arm lightly. "Thank you," she said, feeling again how her heart used to take flight when he'd say "Proud of you Babe." This was even better.

She saw the smile in his eyes as he looked back at her, his face only inches from hers. He put his hand over hers, tentatively at first; then she felt him squeeze lightly back. She could see the shadows under his eyes and the start of his five-o'clock shadow. She noticed for the first time that he'd developed a fine grid of wrinkles in the outer corners of his eyes.

And, up-close, she could see just the slightest start of gray in the hair around his temples. Well, she thought, that was something they had in common.

She wondered what he saw as he looked back at her, his face mirroring her. She knew her hair was still a wild brown mess. And that people thought that the thin ribbons that had faded to blonde were a style statement rather than the simple passage of time. Overall, she thought she looked younger than her thirty seven years, but didn't worry much about it.

She wasn't sure how long they remained like that, looking at each other as though for the first time. After awhile, though, their hands released and Stephanie found herself back in the conversation. She was aware of Ranger watching her, though he didn't say much. It just felt right that he was there.

After awhile, the conversation lulled and Darius stretched back. "Well, I think it's time for me and Jaleesa to head back next door." He looked at Stephanie, "Thanks for looping Jah into the day with your family. Game days are crazy for all us coaches," he smiled broadly.

"It's always a pleasure," Stephanie said as she put her hands on the table and stood up. Without thinking about it, she reached out a hand to cover Ranger's shoulder, and felt him still under her touch. She smiled at him, happy again just to see him, and then looked back across the table.

Stephanie continued speaking. "And Darius, I know for a fact that Sarah's Grandma Kloughn loves to see Jaleesa, too. She asks about her all the time." She squeezed Ranger's shoulder lightly and then stepped back to scoot around the table, following Jaleesa, who held out a hand for Stephanie. She smiled down at the little girl and then walked with her, following Darius and Sarah toward the front door.

Once there, Jaleesa released Stephanie's hand and stretched out her arms like a starfish as her father helped her with her coat. His large hands then pushed a fleece hat over her flax-colored, corkscrew curls.

Darius stood up and glanced back toward the dining room. "Steph, tell your friend Ranger he can keep the sweats; I have plenty more where those came from." He smiled, then added, "Since you have company, are you still interested in joining me for church tomorrow? We can wait until next week."

Stephanie thought about it for a moment, but her instincts told her that Ranger didn't want to feel that he was disrupting her life. That his willingness to stay with her might be partly contingent on that. So, she smiled back at Darius and answered, "Of course we're still joining you. See you tomorrow morning."

Stephanie heard Lisa from the dining room door, "Will we get out in time for lunch, like last time?"

Darius laughed as Stephanie looked back to see Lisa entering the room, with Ranger behind her. "Now you know we will," Darius said, "I go to a church where we know how to properly worship the lord. Services start late enough so people can get over whatever mischief they started on Saturday night," he said as he shrugged on his own coat.

"We give exuberant and righteous praise to our Maker, as is His due, and the morning service ends early enough so everyone can share from the buffet line." He winked at Stephanie and added in a low voice, "And so the pastor doesn't lose any of the day's ministry or Holy Spirit to people sneaking out for football on the big screen at home."

Stephanie laughed, "Call us when you're getting ready to leave tomorrow and we'll be ready." She stood back as Sarah pushed past her to hug her friend Jaleesa goodnight. Darius leaned over and told Stephanie, "Your friend Ranger is welcome to come, too. The lord has a big house." He paused, adding mischievously, "And, Sister Ursula sets a big Fellowship spread after the service since the Lord's work is hungry work." He laughed again and then turned to the door, herding Jaleesa out and down the steps.

"Good night," Stephanie called out as she closed the apartment door. She turned back to the living room. "Okay, Sarah and Lisa, time to start getting ready for bed." She paused, seeing Ranger still hovering in the dining room doorway. "Ranger, I'll be a few minutes. Please make yourself at home. You can stay up, head to sleep, have more dessert… whatever works."

She heard his bark of laughter as she herded the two younger girls toward the stairs. Halfway up, Sarah balked. "Why can't Jaleesa do a sleepover? Why does she have to leave?"

"Because, honey, she only gets to stay with her father every-other weekend, so they want to spend some time together. You got to spend all day with her, so that was really special."

"I don't like Jaleesa's mommy. She shouldn't have moved and taken Jaleesa away."

Stephanie sighed, feeling Sarah's small hand tugging at her pants leg. "Honey, I know how you feel, but you can't say things like that to Jaleesa. Both of her parents still love her, and she needs to feel that it's okay to love both of them equally. We don't want to make her feel that she has to defend one over the other."

"It just doesn't seem fair."

"I know, honey, but sometimes we can't fix what's unfair. Instead, try to be grateful that Uncle Darius is happy to have her spend some of her weekend time with us. And, we'll see her tomorrow at church."

"Yeah, that's good," Sarah admitted, her face unclenching. "And, I'm happy that she gets to be with Uncle Darius, too." At that, Sarah reached her hand over to grasp Stephanie's and then started pulling them both upstairs. "I guess that I wish it was like before. But, I know we'll stay best friends forever, even if we don't live next door anymore. Just like how you and Aunt Mary Lou—and even you and Mr. Ranger—stayed friends even though you aren't in Trenton anymore."

She heard Mary Alice start up the stairs behind her, "Mom, I got this. I'm ready to call it a night, too, so I can lead the Ewoks through all the bedtime rituals."

"Mom," Lisa implored from the upstairs landing, "come upstairs with us so she doesn't make us pretend we're on the forest moon of Endor, again."

Feeling Sarah's hand tugging her, Stephanie laughed, "Ranger," she called down, "I may be awhile."

"Take your time, Steph. I'm all set." She heard the sounds of dishes being moved on the dining room table, and figured he was making space to work.

About thirty minutes later Stephanie headed back downstairs, having accompanied Sarah and Lisa in the steps leading to bedtime and after a brief nighttime chat with Mary Alice. Halfway down, she heard a phone ringing in her purse on the table near the TV. She could tell from the ringtone that it was her unlisted phone, the number she gave to people to use anonymously.

She dashed over to the table and opened her purse. Fishing out the phone, she saw it was coming from a blocked number. "Hello, this is Stephanie Plum."

"Hey Steph, it's Joe."

"Hey, I forgot you had this number. What's up?" She answered as she rounded into the dining room, on her way to the kitchen, where she could see Ranger looking at her from the kitchen table.

"Steph, sorry I'm calling so late. Well, not really sorry given the hour you called me this morning, though I _am _bummed that I only just got back from a baby shower, of all things." She snorted, remembering how he hated those types of events.

"Anyhow Steph," Joe continued, "I did some digging like you asked. There definitely is something odd going on, but only a couple of the anomalies mesh with Ranger's skip, thus far."

"Wait a sec, let me put you on speaker."

"Oh wait. Let me guess." His wry voice said, "Ranger's there."

"Yup, got it in one." As she answered, Ranger pushed away the laptop on the kitchen table, his eyebrow raised. She noted peripherally that Ranger had cleared the dining room and tidied the kitchen while she'd been upstairs. She looked theatrically around the room and mouthed "thank you." At the same time, she tapped the button to activate the external speaker and put it on the table. "Okay, you're on speaker. What did you find?"

"Well, there's not much yet, so don't get too excited." Joe said, his voice slightly tinny on the speaker, "But, you're right that there are odd blocks on information that would otherwise seem innocuous. That's suspicious on its own, since these guys don't seem like informants or witness protection candidates. Since they're all from overseas, I'm going to try an end-around using my new, direct Interpol access."

As Joe spoke, Ranger had sat forward in his chair, his back straight, his dark eyes focusing between Stephanie and the phone.

"Stephanie, is that Morelli?" Ranger stared directly at Stephanie.

"Yeah Ranger, that's Joe. I bumped into some unusual system restrictions in my searches and he agreed to help me, off the books." She sat down at the table and stared back at Ranger, meeting him stare-for-stare. "He thinks you're innocent, too."

"Steph," Joe interjected from the phone. "I wouldn't go that far." He chuckled darkly. "Let's just say I'm willing to follow your instincts when it comes to law-enforcement types who get found unconscious in incriminating circumstances, conveniently near a murder weapon." He paused, "It gives me this weird déjà vu. It's kinda like remembering jock itch."

"Thanks, Joe, that's a great image that you've just shared with us." She sighed, deciding to ignore Ranger scowling in his chair. Instead, she focused on Joe's voice as he continued speaking.

"Always there for you, Steph. Anyhow, the name Mirko Krc sounded familiar. Then I remembered a guy named Marco Kirk—with several aliases including Mark Carrack and Micky the K—on the New Jersey State Police blotter. But, given the nasty facial scar that Ranger told you about, it's gotta be the same guy. He's wanted for boosting high-end cars."

Joe snorted, "Now, that's a 'dime-a-dozen' kind of perp here in Jersey. Christ, if I locked them all up, Giovichinni's would go out of business and I'd never be able to get my car detailed again." Joe paused as Stephanie laughed. "But," Joe continued, "since he sounded like one of the guys in Ranger's list, I dug a bit further into his case file."

Ranger leaned forward again, his intensity shifting the center of balance in the room. "Continue," he said, slowly.

"Okay," Joe answered, "apparently this guy was under surveillance for several months. They'd followed him to Princeton; then suddenly he disappeared." He chuckled sardonically, "When they went into the warehouse where he was last seen, they did manage to nab two Newark-based accomplices red-handed with three Maseratis, an Audi S8, and a Jag XF. So the Auto-Theft Task Force pulled out the marshmallows and sang _Kumbaya _afterward."

Joe paused again, obviously to take sip of something. "But, if I read the reports right, Krc was the lead in that operation. And he disappeared from New Jersey two weeks ago, around the same time as that Aburek guy you mentioned went missing from Portland." Joe was interrupted by the sound of barking in the background, followed by a slamming door.

"By the way, Steph" Joe said, "Today's free advice: If you thought Bob was hyper, never get a Border Collie puppy." Stephanie snorted and saw what almost looked like Ranger rolling his eyes. She knew that couldn't be it, but it was an amusing thought, anyway.

"Okay Joe," Stephanie answered, "I've noted 'Border Collie' right under 'Pony' in my list of non-pets."

"Steph, seriously, put 'Border Collie' above 'Pony'. Regarding Krc, this may be a complete coincidence. But, from that same weekend that he disappeared, there's a report on my desk of a semi-trailer dump truck that went missing from a construction site up in Perth Amboy. That's on a main route Krc might have followed if he went to Maine or Massachusetts. And since he'd been boosting cars with electronic keys, the truck would be child's play."

"Interesting," Ranger said, "though low correlation."

"Yeah, but Ranger, here's something else you should know. During the week that you told Steph that that guy Figueroa was in Maine—the week after that truck disappeared—a Portland-based construction company reported the theft of two blasting assemblies sized for demolition of buildings or large bridges, along with some I-beams. They would've needed something with long payload capacity to carry them, like a semi-trailer truck."

Joe paused for another sip, then continued, "I got that one through the regular interstate wire. No clue if there's a connection, but the coincidences keep piling up."

Joe paused again, and Stephanie looked at Ranger. She was reminded of a show she'd watched with Mary Alice about the statues on Easter Island. At the moment, Stephanie had the sense she was looking at one of them.

Finally Ranger nodded. "Morelli," he said, his voice low, "you need to be careful who you discuss this with."

"Always good to chat with you, too, Ranger." Joe answered, his voice dry. "You're welcome."

"I'm not kidding, Morelli."

Joe sighed audibly on the other end. "Yeah, Ranger, and you were always known for your humor so I was confused about that." Stephanie rolled her eyes heavenward with a sigh, but then Joe continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Ranger, I've learned a few tricks over the years. Given the blocks that Steph mentioned, and what I saw immediately with my access levels, I can tell there's something strange going on. So, I mixed my searches in with a bunch of other queries to make it look like I'm looking for a multi-national stolen car ring. Tomorrow I'm planning to add some searches to mix it up a bit more. And the next time I call, I'll be on a different burner phone."

With a grudging nod, Ranger answered, "Good thinking."

Stephanie knew Joe well enough that now she knew he was definitely rolling _his _eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Joe finally answered. "So, Steph, now you owe me, in addition to owing Amanda for this morning. When you're here over the holidays I'm taking her out for a nice dinner, and you're babysitting Angelina. And, you're not allowed to encourage her to fly. I don't care how much she says she wants to be TinkerBell."

She snorted. "Joe, you can't encourage someone to fly. It's something a person decides to do on their own. If it helps, I think Angelina is as unlikely to want to fly as Angie."

"Good news," he chuckled. "Alright Steph, I'll talk to you later. Stay safe."

"You too, Joe, take care." She ended the call and looked at Ranger.

Ranger sat unmoving, staring blankly at her for at least a minute. Finally, he asked, "Why Morelli?"

She wasn't sure what he was asking, so she went with her gut. "Because I trust him, Ranger. He's smart. He doesn't particularly like you, but he's the person who reached out to tell me that you were in jail, and that the arrest specifics looked odd." She saw Ranger raise his eyebrow at that.

She reached out and put her hand over his, briefly, on the table. "He cares that justice is done, and he's very careful. He won't do anything to risk his family or mine." Ranger looked at her, speculatively.

She squeezed his hand, adding softly, "Ranger, at our core, we are who we are. But, a lot can change in seven years, too."

_To be continued…_


	8. Ch8: Getting the Rest

_Publishing a little early this week; lots of traveling recently means I've had some good, uninterrupted time to write. Once again, I gratefully thank everyone who is following along. Those of you kind enough to leave comments are truly inspiring. Special thanks to jbspencer06, who gives me an honest mirror and lends enthusiasm when I'm flagging. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes. _

* * *

**Chapter 8: Getting the Rest**

Ranger looked at Stephanie across the kitchen table, keeping his face immobile while he considered her words. It was late; he was exhausted. It had been one of the longest Saturdays of his life. But she was right to say that seven years could change people. He knew that was true for himself. After all, he didn't live in New Jersey anymore. He had finally listened to his deep-seated drive to be independent and shaped his work around it, walking away from his constant fight with the image of who he was supposed to be.

And, let's face it: Despite still maintaining a solid physique and blessed with faster-than-usual reflexes, he'd started to see flecks of gray in his temples and the scars and healed fractures were starting to add up. Seven years could make those types of changes too.

But, he wondered what she meant tonight. Aware of the irony, he wondered if she knew how baffled he sometimes was by what she said. He remembered how Steph had sometimes demanded a dictionary of what "Babe" meant. Yet, she'd always picked up his meaning. She was unerring. Amused, he'd experimented to see just how many things he could express with just that one word, "Babe." She'd always gotten it; she never disappointed.

Steph was more mysterious. Ranger had learned that there could be a world of meaning hidden behind her comments. Though he might understand the surface meaning, any single word she spoke could hide a labyrinth of Stephanie-specific associations. He was patient and also a skilled interrogator. So, she eventually would reveal enough for him to tease out the deeper meaning.

And, fortunately, her charming habit of mumbling to herself was like the gift of subtitles in a foreign movie.

But then, sometimes she'd blithely reveal things that floored him with the power she'd handed him. Even knowing his ability to apply pressure, she'd repeatedly given him everything he needed to manipulate her. On more than one occasion he'd told her, point blank, that she was revealing information to the enemy and she'd just shrugged. He'd often wondered if it was intentional; give him the power so she wouldn't have to use it.

So, which one was this? What the hell did she mean by saying that a lot could change in seven years? As often with Stephanie, it seemed simple enough on the surface. But, her face was so earnest; her eyes were steady on his. Was she trying to signal something deeper? If so, did he really want to know? Damn it, he was way too tired for this type of mental crap.

While he sat, he felt the feather-light tingle of her hand on his as it gently anchored his palm to the table. He felt a corresponding warmth washing through his entire body, pooling in his groin in a way that was not helping him think clearly.

Okay, so some things obviously hadn't changed. She still seemed to trust her own instincts over the objective facts of the situation. Sardonically, he mused that this was certainly fortunate for him, as he sat in the warmth of her house having eaten the first home-cooked dinner he'd had in weeks. She still moaned while eating dessert in a way that made grown men at her table need to adjust their junk.

However, while he'd gazed at her over the table tonight, he'd been confused about who Stephanie Plum really was. On the surface, he catalogued a confident woman with kind features and a still-youthful expression. Despite everything, life had given her slight laugh-wrinkles around her eyes. Or, perhaps, she'd seized that happiness with the willfulness he knew she possessed.

He had a flash of memory to his youth, to the jasmines in his Abuela Mañoso's yard in Miami. Abuela had taught him to find the stem when the flower was a rounded bud, pent-up and ready to open. Ranger still remembered the clean scent and the graceful swell at the end of each branch. And then, the heady perfume and self-contained sensuality of the fully opened flower.

The Stephanie he'd seen tonight was full-flower and belonged in that dining room, with those people. But yet, he clearly saw the spirited, impish Bombshell Bounty Hunter peering through her electric blue eyes. He saw the flower before it had opened; he saw his Babe, and it took all his discipline to not simply call her that and then kiss her lips for grounding as he'd done so many times, years ago.

Yet, this life was nothing like how she'd lived when he'd known her. Ranger had tried to stay honest with her, reminding her that she'd want the kids and the white picket fence eventually. Perhaps he'd been right, after all. Perhaps he, himself, had been part of what kept her from it for so long. Was that what she was trying to tell him?

Was she trying to tell him that she'd moved beyond him, the way she'd finally moved beyond having Morelli directly in her life? But, no, Morelli clearly was still part of her life, even after that dickwad had left her for another woman. Maybe she was showing him that Ranger could be in the ex-lover zone along with Morelli, all of them happily toasting each others' new loves like a bunch of college girlfriends.

Maybe she was telling him that her affections had shifted to her neighbor Darius. Ranger had seen how comfortable Darius was in her home. And frankly he'd been taken aback at the way Darius's Jaleesa almost looked like she could be Steph's child. With the girl's milk-tea complexion and amber eyes she balanced curly-haired Sarah, who resembled Steph so strongly that it was like getting punched in the heart.

Well, Steph had always shown a predilection for large, fit men. It hadn't been lost on Ranger that Darius resembled his old comrade Bobby Brown, though with a short simple 'fro instead of cornrows. Ranger had never thought Steph was interested in Bobby, but who the hell knew what had happened when he'd left Trenton for that year. He did know for certain, though, that he wouldn't be wearing those loaned sweatclothes anymore.

Maybe she was saying "Be comfortable in my house, Ranger, but don't get too comfortable." Or, perhaps that was what he was saying to himself.

He mentally shook himself. This really shouldn't matter, he thought with impatience. He was clearly over-tired. If he was going to lose himself in speculation, he should at least wait until he was goddamn awake and had gotten the drugs flushed from his system. And maybe until he'd gotten Steph to give him more specifics.

He shifted slightly and spotted his gun tucked away on the chair next to him, where he'd concealed it after removing it from the small of his back. Yes, he thought to himself, he should also remember that _this _told who he was: A man who always had a gun in close reach. A man with a lifestyle that could leave a woman waiting for years with no word. No matter her vitality and allure.

At that moment, Stephanie gently pulled her hand away and started to push away from the kitchen table. "Well, Ranger, it's time for me to go to sleep. You're welcome to stay up as long as you want. You don't have to get up with us in the morning, though Darius did invite you to church as he was leaving. But anyway, consider yourself at home." She smiled at him, the smile of simple pleasure that he remembered, even in his dreams. "Like I said before Ranger, you're family."

Without thinking, he reached back out for her hand. "Steph, you have quite a family," he said.

Her smile turned rueful, though her eyes were laughing. "Well, it's not all sweetness and light. But most days are good, and I'm lucky to have all the help that I do," she said, settling back in her chair. "And, I'm really lucky that the girls are all such sweet kids."

"I think you had a pretty strong hand in that, Babe." He mentally contrasted tonight's dinner with the few times he'd eaten at the Plum house in Trenton. Unbidden, he also thought of how dinner with his sister Celia's brood was uncomfortably similar to how Ranger remembered the emotionally freighted childhood meals at their parents' table in Newark. In contrast, Steph had charted her own course.

"Thanks Ranger, but when you're raising a village, it takes a village. I've had Mrs. Arshad downstairs to watch the girls when I'm not here. She was daycare for Lisa and Sarah until they started school. Mr. and Mrs. Kloughn pick the girls up from school and have them sleep-over every other weekend." While she spoke, Ranger felt her hand turn and lightly grasp his, in return. "And even my dad lived with us the first couple years I was here. We all show the girls how to be 'family' together."

"Don't sell yourself short, Steph."

A shy look flickered across her face. "Thanks Ranger," Stephanie looked down at the table, toward where their hands were joined on the table. Her eyes darkened. "After my mother died, Albert's parent's offered to take all four girls when they saw how overwhelmed I was. Especially when they found out that we had almost no money."

Stephanie looked back at Ranger, her expression going from sad to determined. "But, that wasn't right. Val and Albert could have chosen the Kloughns as their guardians in their will, but they named me instead. They wanted me to take the girls. I had to figure out how to pull it together. So, even though I know that I'm lucky to have a great support system, I _am _proud of the life we've made together."

"I'm proud of you, too, Steph." Ranger watched as her face infused with happiness. Or perhaps it was gratitude. He felt himself smile at her, possibly the first smile of genuine pleasure he'd had in recent memory.

"Thank you, Ranger. I won't lie, though." She smiled wryly at him, "If you open the freezer you'll see a small convention of Ben and Jerry's. And, they're all lined up, waiting in there for me."

He barked out a laugh at that reminder of his Babe and her methods for fast-tracking herself back to happiness. He was beyond exhausted, but something had clicked in what she said earlier. "Steph, why didn't you have any money? I know that Vinnie didn't pay much, but I thought Albert had some type of trust fund. And, what about child support?"

"You knew about Albert's trust fund?" He nodded, realizing that perhaps he'd just revealed that he'd done a background check on almost everyone who'd come into Steph's orbit back in Trenton. She just shook her head. "Well, of course, you always knew everything about everyone."

She sighed. "After the will was read and I met with the bank, we found out that Albert had been making ends meet by liquidating the principal of that trust fund his grandfather left him. I don't know what Val was thinking, insisting they rent that big house outside the Burg and buy new furniture. They were beyond broke."

She shook her head again, and continued, "And, child support. Please!" She puffed out a breath, and then continued in a quieter voice, "I mean, I don't say this around Angie or Mary Alice, but the best thing I can say about their father Steve is that he was a drive-by sperm donor." Ranger flinched internally at that description, thinking that probably also described how his ex-wife Rachel thought of him.

Steph's face darkened, "I haven't heard from him since a few months after Val died, and good riddance. He didn't bother with anything like a condolence letter. Instead, he had the stones to have his lawyer write me a letter reminding me that he didn't have alimony or child-support responsibilities anymore. What a total dork!"

As he looked into Stephanie's furious face, he made sure to leave his hand gentle as it continued to encircle hers. "Why no child support?" Ranger asked, keeping his face calm, though he was baffled. It would never occur to him to stop support for his daughter Julie, no matter what happened with Rachel. Shit, if something happened to Rachel and Ron, Ranger knew he'd drop everything to help Julie and all of Ron's children, too.

"Ugh, it was Val's divorce settlement. It said that if she married again, both alimony and child support payments would stop. Who signs an agreement like that when you caught your husband _shtupping _the babysitter? With witnesses! What was she thinking? What was _Albert _thinking?"

She shook her head. "When I finally told the Kloughns about Albert's almost-gone trust fund and Steve's letter, it was the final straw. They practically shoved us in a truck and drove us up here themselves."

Ranger squeezed her hand lightly. Furious on her behalf, he wished he could travel back in time to beat bloody sense into both Val's ex-husband and Albert. Even back then he'd known Albert was an idiot, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that Val's first husband wasn't taking care of his family.

Ranger acknowledged to himself, though, that he had been part of Steph's life when Val had gotten divorced and then married again. Knowing how addled her relatives were, that would have been a good time to man-up to make sure that Steph's interests were covered. Not just when they appeared in her life, but as time went on. The way he'd have done for a long-term client.

He'd had the ability; apparently he simply hadn't bothered. Perhaps it hadn't seemed _heroic_ enough to protect her in the background, he concluded with disgust.

So, with that thought, he also wanted to go back in time and beat himself senseless for being as much of an idiot as Val's two husbands. He visualized cracking a few of his younger self's ribs, breaking his arrogant youthful nose, and finishing with a nasty street-fighting kick to the balls. Perversely it made him feel better, though he was well aware that his inner battle had no redemptive effect whatsoever.

He realized that Steph had gone silent and that her hand sat motionless in his. He saw that she was looking into the distance, a pensive expression on her face.

"Steph," he said, keeping his voice level, "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I would have helped you."

She nodded vaguely but continued to look away. Ranger wasn't sure why, but he deeply wanted her to answer. He'd analyze it later; for now he contented himself to move his thumb against the back of her knuckles. Meant as a way to comfort her, Ranger realized that it also brought a level of balance to his mood. He noticed how small yet firm her hand looked in his; how her tendons were a bit more prominent than he remembered.

Stephanie nibbled discreetly on the side of her lip. Then, she took a deep breath and looked up. "Thank you, Ranger." She smiled gently. "I guess there's a lot of water under that bridge, by now. But, I totally believe that you would have swooped in to help me, as you always did."

She squeezed his hand gently, her fingers warm. "But here's the thing, Ranger. I'll be honest. Having money back then would have helped. A lot. But, if I'd had enough money, maybe I wouldn't have reached out for the help I _really _needed. Let's face it: I went from being a rebellious daughter to a single mother of four grieving children in the space of a few weeks. I had to figure out how to be a responsible parent and raise a family."

He watched her posture relax and her face lighten as she smiled self-consciously at him, "I had a lot to learn." She squeezed his hand again, "So it all worked out, Ranger, in the end."

He felt an odd twinge of sorrow that she so clearly thought his help would only have been monetary. But, thinking back, she was probably right. The dividing lines he'd drawn in his life had been very clear to him. After Rachel, he'd known there was no way he was suburban husband and dad material. When viewed from his side, that white picket fence he'd described to Steph was more like an electrified, barbed wire barricade.

But, hard as it was to admit to himself, Stephanie hadn't needed him after all. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised; he'd always marveled at her resourcefulness, at her resilience. Though she may have looked to him for rescue, she never really _needed _him emotionally the way other women always had. Frankly, that had been part of his fascination with her.

He thought back: He'd arrive at the scene after someone bombed her car. She'd sit on the curb with her head on knees, looking lost for about five minutes. Then a determined look would wash over her face and she was ready to go. He'd show up when someone was stalking her, taking shots—or leaving body parts for her, for Christ's sake. She'd reach out for Ranger to hold her, shudder and sigh, and then tilt her chin up. All set.

She'd even loaned _him _her ability to rebound. Most specifically, Ranger remembered when that asswipe Scrog had breached his defenses, kidnapped his daughter, and damn-near killed both Steph and him. Despite Ranger's years as an Army Ranger and security expert, and the hard-ass image he'd cultivated, a failed mall cop had almost taken everything.

Ranger had still been stunned, trying to process that monumental failure at the point Steph had come to visit him after the hospital. He'd thought he was covering it well, but Steph had rarely paid attention to surface appearance or his boundaries. He'd seen the momentary concern on her face. Then, chin up, she smiled at him, flashed those long legs, chattered inconsequentially, fed him cake, and convinced his heart that all could be right with his world again.

So, no wonder she'd built a new life when the old one came crashing down. No wonder she could kindly excuse his absence during such a trial. He wasn't yet sure if he could, but that was for him to figure out.

She interrupted his thoughts with a gently ironic laugh. "Ranger," she smiled and squeezed his hand again, "Who would ever have guessed that I'd end up being the most practical person in my family?" Her laughter broke the ice, and he felt his tension lift.

"Steph, think about it. Who else would it be?" Ranger ran through Steph's family in his mind, and decided she really was the only candidate, even given the wackiness her life usually entailed.

Her laughter bubbled along his awareness like champagne. "Too funny, Ranger, but you're right. I always thought it would be Val, but jeez. The more I found out about Saint Val, the nutsier she was. I mean, she had no money but she had a closet stuffed full of Home Shopping Network collectables and those expensive American Girl dolls, still in their shipping boxes," she said rolling her eyes.

Shaking her head, she muttered, "I never looked at my Macy's habit the same way, again, that's for sure." Then she snorted and looked back up at Ranger. "What else? Oh yeah, she fed her lactose-intolerant husband and daughter milk with every meal so they burped and farted like 'the little engine that could.' She let Mary Alice eat like a horse for over a year, when I got her to stop in two weeks."

"Really glad Mary Alice isn't doing that anymore," he said sincerely. "How did you get her to stop?"

Stephanie giggled, "I told Mary Alice that, if she was a horse, she had to eat their food. The father of someone at work still has a farm out in Natick. So they gave me a bale of hay, which I put in the kitchen with a big Walmart tub of oats. Every meal that's what she got, along with a metal bowl of tap water and an unpeeled carrot or apple. Then, I'd serve her favorite dinners, but wouldn't let her have any because it was unhealthy food for a horse. We even looked up 'horse digestion' together on the Internet."

Ranger started to chuckle, wishing he had been around to see it happen. Stephanie continued with an impish look on her face, "I even put the stuff in baggies for her school lunch. It was so gross that she couldn't trade it to anyone for real food. Not even the weird boy who collected mouse droppings. And, it turned out that Angie hated the habit too, so wouldn't let Mary Alice swap food. She totally snapped after her second Sunday dinner of hay-and-oats."

Stephanie started to laugh along with Ranger, finally pulling her hand out of his as she stretched in her chair. He couldn't help but note how her sweater tightened delicately over her chest as she moved, but he forced himself to focus on her eyes. "Ranger, I need to go to sleep, and I don't know how you're still awake. I'm going to take a shower, and then the bathroom's all yours." She pushed herself up from the table. Resting one hand on his shoulder as she starting walking past him to the hallway door, she added, "Don't forget to put a fresh bandage on your knuckles."

He looked at her over his shoulder. He quickly dismissed his first impulse, which was to smile in the way that used to stupefy her and say something to make her eyes glaze over. For example, that he knew plenty of things he could do with his fingers that didn't require knuckles at all. Or, that maybe a kiss was all it needed to make it all better.

His brain might be shorting out from exhaustion, but he wasn't suicidal.

He did, though, miss the banter they used to have. Thinking quickly through his fog, he smirked slightly and said, "Steph, a roughed-up bandage is good. Helps me scare the crap out of the bad guys without having to actually speak." Eyebrow raised, he kept his face otherwise impassive, waiting for it...

"Ugh, you're impossible," she rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. He heard her mumble "Ranger humor," and he felt his lips quirk up in a smile. That was the Babe he remembered. He waited for the death glare. Five, four, three… And, there it was.

"Yeah, go ahead and smile." She whacked him again and then resumed her stomp back to the hallway beyond the kitchen. "And when your left hand turns purple and falls off because you kept a cootie-covered bandage on it, and you spend the rest of your life looking like Edward Scissorhands, who will be laughing then, huh?"

He truly had missed this. He never could guess what she'd say, even if he knew how to tease reactions from her. He saw from the corner of his eye that she had stopped in the doorway to face him, hands on her hips. He turned in his chair, letting his amusement show, "Steph, _you _would never laugh at Edward Scissorhands."

"Yeah. Fine," she said, mumbling something under her breath. She spun in the doorway, headed down the hallway toward her bedroom. Ranger heard a clunk, and then, "Ow."

"You okay, Babe?" He started to get out of his chair, his body reacting even before his mind engaged.

"Yeah, I'm fine, stay put," he heard through the doorway, so sat back down. He heard her chuckle and the sound of her footsteps. "The leaning hallway of Plum got me again."

He felt himself smile. "I thought you said you don't even notice it after awhile."

"Yeah," she answered back, and he heard what sounded like a drawer closing. "That's when it's the most dangerous. It's like black ice; you don't see it until you're whacking your knee on the far wall." He heard her snort. "Well, not my best exit ever, but goodnight Ranger." Her voice was soft as she said, "I'm glad you're here tonight." Then, in what sounded to Ranger like a whisper—like a caress—he heard, "Sleep well."

"Goodnight Steph," he answered as he heard a door closing. Half to himself he added, "I'm glad I'm here too."

After awhile he noticed that he was listening to the shower running in the bathroom, and realized that he'd been staring at the same screen on the laptop for several minutes. His body was telling him that he was being a stubborn asshole and that he really needed to sleep. Not the light sleep vigil he had in his truck, or even in jail, thank God. He needed to pass out for however long he could, refreshed to restart his hunt.

Of course, it wouldn't be on the platform bed back in his spartan, quiet loft in Soho. It wouldn't be behind the veil of obscurity provided by his holding company ownership and the security ensured by his four locks and his state-of-the-art infrared alarm system. Instead, it would be in Steph's rambunctious multi-family house, behind a commercial "maybe the cops will come" alarm system.

It would be on a pillow that he'd already noted smelled vaguely of Stephanie and her home.

He closed the laptop, picked up his papers, and started silently back toward the den. As he padded past the bathroom door, the sound of running water danced along his senses. He could smell Steph's soap, mingled with her distinctive female scent. He could almost feel the drop-by-drop cascade of warm water on his arms, coursing down his chest, down past his ass, down his legs, like fingers against his skin.

He could feel it running through his hair, dripping languorously onto his nose and lips. Like kisses. Like Steph's full, soft lips. Like the aching thrill running along his cock as it started to lunge insistently against his suddenly too-tight pants. He inhaled deeply, suppressing a groan, and kept moving down the hall. Tomorrow morning, after he'd slept, he would finish his plan for tracing his fugitives.

Tonight though, he and his hands—bandaged and not—had far more urgent business to manage before he'd be able to sleep.

_To be continued..._


	9. Ch9: A New Day

_Thank you, readers and reviewers. It makes such a difference to know that people are engaged with this story. Again, I also thank jbspenser06 because it's incredibly helpful to have another set of eyes to make sure I conveyed what I intended. _

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

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**Chapter 9: A New Day**

Stephanie could hear the shower running as she returned downstairs on Sunday morning. She laughed under her breath. For the first time in the history of the universe and all the planets, she was awake and dressed before Ranger. Probably the ancient Mayans had written about this very moment. Maybe it was like that cosmic convergence thing; the start of a new era in humanity's relationship to morning.

Or... probably not. But maybe she'd be able to tease Ranger about it someday. Either possibility was equally momentous in Stephanie's way of thinking.

Since she had about a half hour before it was time to leave for church, there was still time for a quick clean-up. So, picking up a stack of breakfast dishes from the dining room table, she jostled open the door into the kitchen with her hip and elbow. Knowing that Ranger was awake, she didn't have to worry about making noise anymore.

Setting down the pile of plates, she went back to the dining room for the orange juice and milk. She could tell from the muted splashing that Ranger was in the shower. The thought made her happy to her very bones.

Partly it was the renewed jolt of astonishment that Ranger was really here. He was actually in her house. That was enough for a lifetime, right there. Beyond that, she had another, unexpected chance to help Ranger after all he'd done for her in the past. It was like having birthday cake for breakfast, whether it was bailing him out of jail, being able to offer him the comforts of a shower, or simply seeing him smile.

And, though she was slightly embarrassed to admit it, she was relieved to hear Ranger stirring because this meant she wouldn't have to try writing him another note before she headed out to church.

She'd already left a few post-it notes scattered around to orient Ranger to the idiosyncrasies of the house. Things like "the kitchen clock is ten minutes fast" and "don't run the coffee maker and toaster at the same time but if you do, the fuse box is behind the sailboat picture in the hallway."

But then she'd gotten stumped when trying to write a note to just make himself at home and eat whatever he found in the kitchen. It should have been so easy, but she'd written at least four of them and crumpled each one into the wastebasket.

She knew that it was best to be straightforward with Ranger. So she'd tried, "Ranger, make yourself at home." She'd put the note under a coffee cup and looked at it. Then she'd pulled it back out and added, "And eat breakfast." It still wasn't quite right, so she'd appended, "please."

Scanning the note as she tucked it back under the coffee cup, Stephanie realized it sounded too much like a note from mom. That certainly didn't feel right when thinking of Ranger. So she'd torn it up and tried again. "Ranger, good morning, it's okay to eat breakfast." She'd snorted as soon as she read the note; she could almost hear a wry "Babe, good to know."

She'd realized she was trying to write like Ranger, so she'd tried just jotting as if she were speaking. Two pieces of paper later, she'd stopped and tried to read her latest note. She'd crumpled that one when she realized that the cross-outs and sentences running up the margins made it impossible for even her to figure it out. And, the parts she _could _read were more like a diary entry than an invitation for Ranger to truly feel at home in her house.

Finally she'd written a simple note that she'd liked. Humming with contentment she'd tucked its edge under the coffee cup and then turned to put the pen away. As she'd scanned the note again in her periphery she'd stopped. Self-consciously, she realized she'd signed it "Love, Steph."

It reminded her uncomfortably of the revelation she'd had almost a year after leaving Trenton. That she couldn't remember ever having told Ranger she loved him. Not out loud. It had been one of several painful and unflattering self-discoveries she'd made in the past several years. And, having failed to discuss feelings with Ranger, she didn't know how he would read that phrase. Perhaps in his mind it would be like "roger that" or "ten-four good buddy."

But, maybe it would spook him. Maybe it would trigger regrets for him, as well.

Well, regrets were reminders of a past that couldn't be changed. Moving forward required the right attitude, and it was more than a note about breakfast could accomplish. Resolute, she'd taken a deep breath and tossed out that note also.

With that, she'd headed upstairs for an hour of getting ready for the day with her girls, returning herself to familiar family time. Weekend clothes-a-palooza, to borrow Mary Alice's phrase. When the relative discipline of schoolday preparations went out the window. When over an hour could fly by before Stephanie even knew it.

These days, thank heavens, she rarely had to debate the artificial nature of clothing conventions with Mary Alice. And, with Angie away at college, Stephanie didn't have anyone to distract _her_ with discussions of shoes and accessorizing.

However, she knew from experience that leaving Sarah unattended on Sunday morning meant that she'd still be in her pajamas over an hour later. She'd either spend the time in earnest chats with her pet turtle or on the floor ringed by her stuffed toys. Between the Powerpuff Girls, the Merida and Mulan dolls, and the plush Angry Bird thingies she'd adopted from Mary Alice, Stephanie suspected that Sarah was developing her own interdimensional persona in her bedroom.

Older and more serious, Lisa would have gotten dressed on her own. However, since Lisa still didn't quite understand the nuances of either church or dressing up, she could be wearing anything. It might actually be a dress. On the other hand, it might be her Girl Scout uniform. It might be the puffy-sleeved, bright green "dirndl" outfit her Grandma Kloughn had brought back from their vacation in the Swiss Alps.

This morning, though, things had gone fairly smoothly, with only limited procrastination and little squabbling. Following her usual Sunday habit, she'd brought up her own clothes and gotten dressed for church along with the girls. Then, while helping with outfits, hair brushing, and (in Sarah's case) selection of videos to watch later with her friend Jaleesa, she'd told them somewhat edited stories about Ranger and how they'd become friends.

Mary Alice had known a lot about him, of course. However, it had surprised Stephanie that Mary Alice knew stories that Stephanie didn't think she'd told her. Then she'd realized that Albert must have talked about Ranger. From the stories that Mary Alice relayed, it must have been a major man-crush. In a shy voice, Mary Alice had confessed that the few times she'd seen Ranger as a child had been like meeting Jack Sparrow in person. Stephanie had laughed, but thought that might not be too far off the mark.

Returning to the present, standing in front of the dirty dishes in her kitchen, Stephanie chuckled again at the image. She had a very muscular, sober, and badass Jack Sparrow showering in her bathroom. And, from the scent, Jack Sparrow had apparently found the sandalwood soap she'd left on the counter yesterday after her Saturday grocery run. It wasn't Bvlgari, but Jack Sparrow was going to smell better than any pirate had a right to. In fact, he was going to look better, too. A lot better.

Opening the dishwasher, she reflected that most of the men her age were starting to look soft. A bit more weight spread across their bodies, their chins and cheeks with less definition, and their middles a bit more padded. It was true even for the cops, like Joe or her boss Ryan, whose exercise regimens kept them fit.

But Ranger still looked as trim as always. Though more lean, he was still muscled like a lumberjack and fit into his cargoes the same as the man she'd originally met in his late-twenties. With his hair slightly shaggy and the minor crowsfeet around his guarded, intelligent eyes, he looked as alluringly dangerous as ever. And yes, she'd definitely checked him out yesterday. And was getting a bit flushed thinking about him now.

Ruefully, she realized that contemplating Ranger in the shower was not conducive to church-going thoughts. So she reached over to her faux Coach bag, which she'd set on the kitchen table in preparation for the morning. Fumbling, she pulled out her little clip-on iPod, popped in her earbuds, and started listening to the music Mary Alice had loaded on it.

Now that she wasn't worried about waking Ranger, she set about unloading last night's dishes from the dishwasher, making room for this morning's plates and glasses. Plates and silverware first, then glasses and mugs. As the music mix shifted to early Madonna, she took a moment to start dancing in-place in front of the sink, not bothering to put down the collection of forks and spoons she was holding as she waved her arms in the air.

At just that moment, she spied Ranger leaning back against the counter to her left, an amused glimmer in his eyes.

"Holy cow, Ranger!" She almost flung the silverware in a shiny clatter as she spun toward him. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" Her breath had sped up and she could feel her face heating up. His stance, with his arms crossed over his black thermal shirt, showed off his upper arms and chiseled chest in a way she remembered well. His hair glistened with moisture from the shower.

"Steph," he smirked, "a brass band could have snuck up on you."

"Yeah, yeah, not aware of my surroundings, yadda yadda," she said, feeling flustered. However, seeing Ranger out of the corner of her eyes, she suddenly realized she'd seen Angie standing almost exactly the same way as Ranger in the same part of the kitchen. It was a defensive posture; a self protective stance. Though in Ranger's case, it was well hidden behind his prominent biceps and shoulders.

Looking up quickly, she thought she caught a flash of wariness lurking behind the amusement in his guarded face. She wondered if that had always been true, and she just hadn't seen it before. Something to think about.

She pulled the earbuds out of her ears and pointed to the matchbook-sized iPod on her collar. "Check this out. The girls pitched in to get me this for my birthday last year, though I think it was mostly self-protection so they wouldn't have to listen to my music anymore." Watching his face relax into amusement, she continued. "I mean, Ranger, can you believe that this tiny thing has more music than that whole pile of CDs I used to have in the corner of my apartment?"

"Babe. Was that the stack before or after Sally Sweet's friend torched your place?" He uncoiled and took a couple of slow steps toward her, a gentle twitch curling his lip.

"Ugh, very funny," she rolled her eyes. However, seeing his smug look she couldn't help chuckling. In hindsight, it actually _was _funny that her former life as a bounty hunter could be outlined relative to building explosions, kidnappings, and epic car disasters. That Ranger knew those milestones was oddly comforting.

"Ranger, it's way better than either CD collection, before or after. Right now, it's got the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame mix that Mary Alice made for me. It has everything: Metallica, Pat Benatar, Heart, Van Halen, Madonna, and the Boss! She's even tried to expand my tastes by adding a few I didn't know, like Buddy Guy and Albert King. It's really good."

"Sounds more like she wanted to distract you," he said in a knowing voice as he walked to her other side. He reached down and pulled the silverware drainer from the dishwasher, and then started sorting the remaining utensils in-place while Stephanie stared. It was disconcertingly similar to the dream she'd had a few months ago where George Clooney stopped by and started folding laundry.

"Ranger, you don't have to do that."

"Not a problem." She heard him chuckling gently under his breath at her stunned look. "Steph, I know about dishes and kitchens. I mostly live inside and use utensils. I even have indoor plumbing and a dishwasher in my apartment."

"Oh, jeez Ranger. Sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting or anything," she said, turning with embarrassment to open the silverware drawer. She deposited her original handful of silverware one-by-one into the sections, and then took the pre-sorted bundles from Ranger. She noted that he now had a clean, square bandage on his left hand and that the swelling on his right hand had reduced to just a set of bruises.

"Steph, really, I'm glad to help," he said as they continued putting away dishes as though they'd been doing this for years. "It was nice to get a full night's sleep for a change."

She glanced at his face. He still looked a bit scuffed up, but better rested than yesterday. "I'm glad, Ranger." She caught his eyes when he handed her the last of the mugs from the dishwasher's top drawer. "I confess, though, I was worried that the bodysnatchers had grabbed you when you weren't already out here when I got up."

His lip quirked. "Guess I was more tired than I thought." She saw him glancing around the kitchen, taking in the remains of breakfast. "On the other hand, Steph, you've gotten good at stealth. I'm surprised I didn't hear you this morning."

"That's because we shifted to Grandpa Plum Breakfast Protocol." She saw his eyebrow rise. "When my dad was first living with us, he kinda didn't sleep on a normal schedule. He'd watch TV in the den into the wee hours, and then stay in bed all morning. We discovered that we could eat in the dining room. With all three doors closed between the dining room and the den where he was sleeping—where you're sleeping—he'd rarely wake up. Mary Alice remembered and set up the dining room this morning before I even suggested it."

"I'll thank her later," he nodded and then reached over for the stack of dirty plates.

"Wait, Ranger, let me do that." She moved to stand in front of the sink before he had a chance to get his bandage wet. "Go ahead and fix yourself something to eat. I just put the orange juice back in the fridge, but help yourself. There's bagels and cream cheese, eggs, yogurt, and a container of cut-up fruit. Also, I have a case of assorted Dunkin' Donuts K-cups in the cabinet under the coffeemaker. Make whichever kind you like."

He remained staring at her, unmoving, so she pushed him gently toward the refrigerator and added, "And, hey, as a bonus prize you already know where all the dishes live. How cool is that?" She started rinsing plates and loading the bottom dishwasher drawer."

"Steph," she heard from behind the open refrigerator door, "your fridge is full of food."

"Yup, uh, that's where I keep it. Food, that is." She looked over at him. "The cold stuff, anyway."

She heard what sounded almost like a snort from behind the open door. "Babe, if it weren't for the fact that you said your iPod has Metallica and Springsteen on it, I'd suspect that those bodysnatchers you mentioned actually had nabbed _you_."

"Very funny, Ranger," she rolled her eyes. "But seriously, help yourself to whatever's in there."

"Just orange juice for now, thanks." He poured a large glass and then closed the fridge door. He was silent for a moment, looking at all the pictures that festooned the door. Stephanie saw his finger drift up to touch the edge of one of the pictures. "That's Lula, standing outside your house," he said in a muted tone. "She looks good."

"Yeah, that was last spring. We try to see each other in-person at least once a year. We trade off years: next March I'm going down to Baltimore for a week to visit with her. I can take Amtrak and she picks me up."

"Baltimore… did she go there to follow Tank?" he asked, sounding casual while he kept his eyes focused on the pictures stuck to the fridge door, his finger continuing to trace lightly around the edges.

"Not at all," Stephanie answered, surprised he didn't know this. Well, maybe he was testing to see what _she _knew. "Lula was there for a year before Tank and the other guys relocated to Baltimore. After she finally got her Associates degree in Community Health, one of her teachers connected her with the 'Clinic on Wheels' outreach program down there. It really gave her purpose, for a change. It's like her dream job."

Stephanie closed the dishwasher and pulled the plaid hand towel off the hook next to the sink, when a memory made her start laughing. "Ranger, you would have loved it. I still remember her slamming into Vinnie's office in some kind-of Nicki Minaj dress and safety-orange leggings, yelling that she was quitting immediately."

She started giggling. "This was a few weeks after we'd found out that the only reason Vinnie kept paying Lula for the filing she never did was because he had a 'thing' for office 'pictorials' featuring large ladies," she finger-quoted as she spoke, "of course, that is when he wasn't hanging out with poultry."

She snorted, "So anyway, Lula spent about fifteen minutes busting him about the 'freaky-assed perv' porn he was watching on his computer while she described it in detail. I was going for the brain bleach, but Connie laughed so hard she spewed her coffee all over her desk and shorted out her keyboard."

"Sorry I missed it," he answered with a wry expression on his face. "Are you still in touch with Connie?"

"Not as much," she answered turning to lean against the counter, "I sometimes see her when we visit Trenton over Christmas, but we've kinda gone our different ways. After Harry the Hammer made Vinnie close down for good, she went to manage the office for her cousin at the junkyard. I think that's her social life, now."

He nodded, and she continued. "I do still keep in touch with my friend Mary Lou; you met her a couple of times. That picture below Lula's is from August. Mary Lou and her family drove up to meet us in Cape Cod, at the camp we stayed at for our summer vacation."

She smiled at the memory. "I'm used to seeing Angie and Mary Alice all grown up, but it still surprises me that her sons are like six-feet tall and in college. It feels like just yesterday that she had to take Mikey to the emergency room because he ate a bunch of Legos, including some little pointy Lego people. Now he's ROTC and studying economics. They grow up so fast."

With a slow rumbling laugh, Ranger put his empty glass on the counter. She saw a brief shadow trace across his expression before he turned back to her, his face once again composed. "Speaking of eating inappropriate things," Ranger pointed at the top-most picture on the door. "I'm assuming this is a Halloween picture. I get that Mary Alice is dressed in some Japanese Anime cartoon outfit, but why are the three younger girls dressed as yellow suppositories with eyes?"

Stephanie couldn't help herself; she doubled over with laughter. "Omigod Ranger, we have to snare you for movie night while you're here." She looked up at his serious expression, which she had once labeled as "Perplexed Ranger Falls Through Stephanie's Rabbit Hole Yet Again."

Taking pity on him, she tried to control herself. "They're cartoon characters called Minions from the Despicable Me movies. Sarah and Lisa love them and got Jaleesa to dress up with them since she was here for the weekend. If we have time we'll watch one together. They're actually pretty funny."

He looked at her, suspicious. "It's not Disney, right? I don't do singing rabbits and frogs."

"Ranger, I wouldn't dream of it," she answered, still fighting her laughter. "Also, I promise that there are no talking fish, frilly princesses, or Prince Charmings. Instead, there are bad guys, weapons, and at least one car chase. You'll love it."

His lips quirked in a smile and he looked back at the fridge. "So, I'm sensing a slight misdirection here. Who's dressed as the princess in the picture next to the Minions?"

"Ah, that's Angelique, Joe's daughter. He sent me that picture from his phone."

"That's right," Ranger said, his eyes focused on the fridge. "You've also kept close with Joe," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Yeah, Ranger, Joe's been a good friend. His wife Amanda, too. I think I told you he helped me get my current job." Ranger nodded, so she continued, "That was actually the second job he got me. When I was still trying to make it in Trenton, he lobbied hard and got me a part-time job as a dispatcher at the TPD, even though his bosses really didn't want the Bombshell Bounty Hunter working for them."

She shrugged, then continued, "It was a crappy job and didn't solve all my problems. But at least it got me enough money to pay the back rent on Val's house so I could sublet it and get us moved in with my dad." Lowering her voice, she mumbled, "Which also wasn't great, but that's another story."

Ranger had turned to look at her, his face still blank but his eyes dark. "Why not move in with Joe? I thought he was the one who wanted a family, all along."

Surprised, Stephanie stared at Ranger. _Oh hello Anger_, Stephanie thought, _where have you been?_ She scanned Ranger's face to see if he was yanking her chain. But no… so this was probably a remnant of unfinished business between them. She started reciting the first three sentences of the Declaration of Independence in her mind; a self-distraction technique Mrs. Kloughn had taught her when it had become obvious that counting to ten just gave her more seconds to focus all her attention on getting even angrier.

At about the point that she got to "We hold these truths to be self-evident" in her head, she remembered that she'd gone through similar "from outer space" conversations with Joe years ago. She suspected that, in Ranger's mind, his question made total sense. Despite the complete dumbness factor. So, as she'd learned painstakingly to do with both Joe and her eldest Angie, she consciously decided to just answer the surface questions until the underlying emotions had calmed. Her emotions especially.

Finishing up after "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness," she focused back at Ranger, crossing her arms. Keeping her voice matter-of-fact, she answered quietly, "Joe and I weren't together anymore, Ranger." She took a breath, watching his blank expression. "In fact, I'd introduced him to Amanda a few months before, and she had just moved in with him. That's Amanda in the picture with Joe, down by the door handle." Ranger's brow wrinkled, a hint of puzzlement showing from behind his closed expression. His eyes riveted to hers, and she could almost hear the question in his mind.

"Joe and I broke up about a month before you left Trenton, though we didn't tell anyone." She pulled her hand up to swipe away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. "It was already really difficult, and we didn't want to deal with everyone trying to push us back together one more time."

She paused at the unbidden memory of Ranger, himself, pushing her back to Joe. In fairness, though, Ranger wasn't the only one. She and Joe had been one of the reigning soap operas in the 'Burg for years; it was like the script had already been written and they just had to blunder through all the episodes until they got to the "Very Special Series Finale" with Joe and Stephanie walking down the aisle. Which, thank heavens, had never happened.

Ranger tilted his head slightly. "You broke up all the time, but you always got back together within a few weeks," he said softly, almost under his breath.

"Not that time." She sighed at the memories, and then shrugged. "Joe and I finally got in sync. We figured out that two people who break up repeatedly over things like peanut butter and bread really don't belong together for the long haul." She started nibbling her lower lip, remembering the moment when she'd seen that she'd gotten it wrong, all along.

The moment was so clear in her memory. She'd been sitting in the dark of her apartment after yet another close call with death. She'd been annoyed when Joe had finally caught up with her in the hospital. Not happy; not safe. Annoyed. They'd had an almost pro-forma shouting match about her safety. And then he'd left, telling her to get pizza for dinner because he was pulling yet another long shift.

And darn-it—whether Joe was right or wrong—it was clear that, whatever they had together, it wasn't love anymore. In that moment she'd realized that what she had with Joe was familiarity; on their best days it was accommodation. She'd thought back to what she'd imagined as a teen: that love should be a primal force that made you strong enough to dare the world for each other. To be together through it all. She remembered wondering when she'd started being _glad _when Joe didn't rush to her disasters and came home too late to talk. Or when peanut butter had become more important than the feelings of the man whose bed she shared.

Lost in her memories, now over seven years in the past, she didn't see the confusion on Ranger's face. Then the phone rang, snapping her mood. As she turned to answer it, Ranger re-opened the refrigerator, the door once again blocking her view.

"Hello, Plum residence," she answered, too disoriented to look at the incoming number before picking up the phone. "Oh, hey Jaleesa," she continued, as she heard Mary Alice coming down the stairs, singing "I've got you... under my skin…" in her lounge singer voice.

Shaking her head, Stephanie wrapped up the call, "Okay, we'll meet you downstairs by the car in about five minutes." She hung up as Mary Alice darted into the kitchen.

"Hi Mom, good morning Ranger," she reached around Ranger to grab a juice box from the fridge. "Are you coming with us to church? That would be really cool," she enthused while poking a straw into the carton. "Uncle Darius' church is one of my favorites; their hymns are different from the ones over at Our Lady of Annunciation. Uncle Darius taught me a couple so I could join in."

Ranger closed the fridge door, his hands empty. "No, I have a lot of work to do this morning," he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, his face composed.

"Oh rats, that's too bad," Mary Alice answered, genuine disappointment clear in her voice. "I wish you didn't have to, but I know mom said you have a big case to solve, so that's important too. Maybe you can come next time you visit." She crumpled and tossed out the juice container, then turned to Stephanie. "Was that Uncle Darius on the phone? The Ewoks will be down in a few minutes, so we can suit-up for the ice planet outside. I'll go get our coats sorted out."

"Thanks honey, but remember that your sisters aren't primitive furry aliens." Stephanie answered as Mary Alice smiled mischievously, and then twirled toward the kitchen door. "I've got you... deep in the heart of me…" she resumed her song, singing softly this time as she drifted toward the stairs. "So deep in my heart… that you're a part of me…." Her voice muffled as she went up to find her sisters.

"Steph, Star Wars I get, but Cole Porter?" Ranger asked, "Not some boy band? How old is she, anyway?"

Seeing the puzzlement on his face, Stephanie couldn't help but laugh again. Trust Mary Alice to lighten her mood. "It's worse than that Ranger," Stephanie smiled in answer. "It's Sinatra's Greatest Hits. I blame my father and his Time/Life Classic Voices of the 20th Century collection." As she heard the clatter of Lisa and Sarah hurtling themselves downstairs toward the front door after Mary Alice, she added, "Don't ask." She rolled her eyes and saw Ranger smirk. She'd forgotten that he'd always found that amusing.

Stephanie picked up her purse from the counter. "Ranger, are you sure you don't want to come with us? Darius did invite you last night."

"I'm sure," he answered, gesturing with his chin toward the sound of youthful chatter by the front door. "But, are _all_ of yougoing? I thought Albert was Jewish."

"Yeah, the Kloughns are Jewish, but they went Unitarian for years so they don't mind me exposing the girls to other things." She paused briefly, "Though the Hindu temple was a bit beyond Lisa's comfort zone, so I'll go back there by myself next time."

At his curious expression she added, "Since I'm a community liaison for the BPD, I decided to attend different churches so people can know me and that I respect their traditions. I go to schools and street fairs, too. But, anyway, the Kloughns are happy because they get all the girls for Sabbath and sleepover every-other weekend. And I go with them to temple on their high holidays. The way I see it, the point is to take time to think about God and you can do that anywhere."

"Agree with you there, Steph," Ranger nodded as he reached for his empty glass.

As he turned around to the sink and turned on the faucet, Stephanie stepped forward and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. "Ranger, please make yourself at home." She released him and took a step backward as he turned to gaze at her, his eyes dark and mysterious pools. This was the expression she could never read.

"Seriously Ranger—how do you say it?—'my casa is tu casa' and, as you've noticed, there's Ranger-friendly food in the fridge, mixed in with the Lunchables. Stay here for breakfast; stay as long as you need."

A smile illuminated his face, banishing the shadows from his eyes. "Thanks, Steph. Best offer I've had in a long time."

She heard Mary Alice call that it was time to leave. She started toward the apartment's main door and, rounding the bend from the dining room, saw all three girls like down-bundled owls staring with anticipation from the entryway. She smiled back at Ranger in the kitchen, and then headed over to where her coat was hanging. Shrugging it on, she pulled her purse onto her shoulder and turned to say goodbye.

Startled, she saw that Ranger had followed her, silent as always. Only a few feet away, he stood illuminated in the light from the front window; a handsome image silhouetted from her past. Then he smiled again and she saw her friend, here in-person.

"Bye Steph," he said in a low timbre. "I'll let you know my plans."

"Bye Ranger, we'll see you later," she answered, wishing that she was staying here with him today. But, she could tell that he needed to be alone for awhile. And he truly needed to work on his case.

As Mary Alice opened the door behind her, a chorus of "Bye Ranger" and "See you, Ranger," sang out as the girls headed through the door to the landing. Then, as Stephanie turned to follow, Mary Alice added, "Bye John Boy." Hearing Ranger's chuckle, Stephanie started laughing as she tapped Mary Alice on the shoulder. "You watch way too much TV, young lady," she said as she closed the door, smiling one last time at Ranger as she closed the door to head downstairs and out to the driveway.

_To be continued..._


	10. Ch10: Back to Work

_Thanks again for following along. If I haven't responded yet to your (wonderful, helpful) reviews, I thank you for your patience. Your comments are encouraging and also give me nifty ideas on additional things I can add to the story to give it flavor. Special thanks, as always, to jbspenser06 who reminds me to take care of Ranger, especially when he's being cranky._

_I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes._

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**Chapter 10: Back to Work**

Ranger walked into the D'Angelo's sub shop on Sunday evening. The sun was getting low on the horizon, making it difficult to see even with the dark Ray-Bans he'd picked up at the store yesterday with Steph. It was good timing, he thought as he looked at the menu on the wall. He needed to warm up and get some calories. He needed to pop a couple more painkillers to deal with his headache and the lingering pain he felt in his joints and muscles.

Beyond that, it was time to evaluate what he'd learned during his day of pounding the street so he could put this evening's surveillance to best use.

He stomped his feet unconsciously while he waited in line, and tucked his hands under his arms to warm them. Just his luck that he'd dropped into Boston during a record-breaking, post-Halloween cold snap. It was on a par with this whole job. He was starting to seriously wonder what had caused him to take it. The whole thing was FUBAR.

No, that wasn't entirely true, he thought to himself as he stepped up to order. Against all odds, this job had brought Steph back into his life. The same Steph, yet so different.

He couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd been in Trenton the year when Steph's sister died. He would have stepped forward to help, no doubt about that. In fact, even now he felt himself coil for action every time he thought about what Steph had gone through while he was away, not that he could do anything now.

And, dammit, he'd heard her loud-and-clear that she had needed to reach for a different type of help than what he would've provided. Help she might not have sought had he been there. What was fucked up was that Ranger had decided she probably was right. What the hell did he know about raising children, about creating a family? Not exactly things he'd excelled at, he thought darkly.

Then he mentally shrugged. If he was honest, he hadn't been in any shape to help her with anything beyond money anyway. Not something he liked to admit, but there it was. He'd been at a tipping point; his vaunted discipline frayed. He'd barely been able to stomach his days being mired in meetings and paperwork. The walls in his apartment, the guardrails on his schedule, the chain of command…. They'd all closed in around him.

Without realizing it, he'd managed to re-create most of what had made the Army untenable. And he'd had a mental rucksack full of personal crap he'd needed the past six-or-so years to deal with. He sighed inwardly; he'd truly needed to leave Trenton when he did.

But what was truly fucked up was that _he _had probably needed _her _more than she had needed him. Just thinking about it made his anger concuss like a building imploding into rubble and a plume of dust.

In the early hours this morning, he'd woken from a restless dream with a realization that passed through him like an electric shock. What if the reason he'd been able to stay focused long enough to build Rangeman into a lucrative, well-respected business was precisely that Steph had been there to ground him, to counter-balance him? The sheer unpredictability and adrenaline rush of her emergencies had shown like halogen runway lights on the darkened airfield of his life.

Oh, he'd long ago figured out that watching her sleep had been his balm after he returned from difficult jobs, hair triggered and ready to blow. He'd come to rely on her unconditional acceptance of his damaged soul to regain his balance and resume his regimented life with poise. He'd sneak in after midnight, sit for hours, and leave near dawn feeling like maybe he'd be able to sleep without nightmares.

Equally powerful, though, was his almost instinctive urge to spring into action when she was in danger. He would leave any meeting, abandon any project, dive headfirst into a murky river more than a storey below if he heard she was in danger. Then he'd walk away from her and return to his daily business, pumped and ready to roll. In a heated argument after the river-diving event, Tank had called her a pinup for Ranger's wet dreams and Ritalin for his attention deficit disorder. In retrospect Ranger thought Tank might have hit the nail on the head.

So, Steph had thought Ranger was Batman; Tank had thought he'd lost focus and passed all decision making to the head in his pants. Meanwhile his cousin Les had accused Ranger of misplacing his dick altogether since he kept letting the only woman obviously in his life return to goddamn Morelli over and over.

Which just made him think of Morelli. When Steph told him this morning that she had actually broken up with Morelli a month before he'd left town seven years ago, it had confused the crap out of him. It was like the first time he'd found himself on the side of the road after an ambush in the Army; ears ringing, bottom dropped out of his lungs, with no memory of how the hell he'd gotten there.

He'd felt so goddamn righteous that he'd walked away in nobility to leave Steph to the cop, and instead he'd monumentally missed his chance with her. The devil on his shoulder, though, whispered that he had ignored plenty of other chances to make her his. Maybe Morelli had been an excuse. Like saying that his life didn't lend itself to relationships, as though lifestyle wasn't just a series of choices.

Well, screw it. He should have been able to figure that out from how furious he'd been when he'd returned after that year away, only to find Steph gone and Morelli married. He should have looked a little more carefully at his rage. He'd been careless, though, since his deep core of anger had long been one of his strengths. Glacially calm on the outside, he'd always been able to immediately access that burning spark of fury that gave him the edge that made him exceptional.

But, when had it started to make him blind?

He remembered coming back to Trenton so clearly. He'd stormed back to Rangeman at 2am—still dressed for undercover—after finding a Vietnamese couple living in Stephanie's former apartment and the Plum house empty with dust on the furniture. Tank hadn't answered his calls and hadn't been home. Les had answered his cellphone from what sounded like a strip club and said Stephanie had moved away months ago. Bobby, obviously half asleep, had basically told Ranger that it wasn't his business to track other peoples' ex-girlfriends.

So Ranger had turned over his own office and apartment, searching for clues. All he'd found was Steph's key fob with Tank's note saying that Steph had returned it when she'd left town. In the process he'd unearthed the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label that his brother had given him when he'd bought the building and proceeded to drink himself into a shotglass-throwing stupor.

He'd been furious that he'd allowed himself that weakness. And that he'd allowed himself to rely on another person to make himself whole. Before he'd managed to ramp himself down, he'd destroyed several punching bags and needed stitches and a splint for his hand. The first bar fight down at the docks hadn't been his finest moment, but it had helped him get a grip on himself. At least he hadn't gotten arrested that time.

But, as the weeks went on, he he'd had even less tolerance for the day-to-day business at Rangeman than before. He'd lost his ability to sleep through the night and found himself volunteering for the violent skips a bit more often than was smart. He'd found himself picking fights. Something had to give.

Tank had been fairly clear on the point, as well, during a couple of bouts on the mats that had become more than the usual sparring sessions. At the end of it all, Ranger still believed that selling his share of the business and moving on had been the right thing to do. For everyone concerned.

Having connected back up with Stephanie, Ranger couldn't help but wonder how those six months would have played out differently had she still been in Trenton when he'd returned. Well, he thought sardonically, there would've been fewer bar fights. And what about the years afterward? Would she have agreed to leave Trenton with him? Taking a breath, he wondered: would he have agreed to follow her in support of her new family?

Amazingly, he now saw that she still radiated a vibrancy that drew him. Perhaps her emergencies and the volatility of life around her hadn't been why he had been drawn to Stephanie in the first place. Perhaps he _would _have followed her while he searched for his new equilibrium.

Ranger was suddenly pulled back into the moment by the teenager behind the D'Angelo's counter. _Dammit_, Ranger thought to himself, he was still ignoring his surroundings. He couldn't blame his distraction on Steph though; she hadn't even been in the picture when he'd been dropped like an amateur in the Allston bodega a couple of days ago. Nope, it was all on him.

Ranger paid and then took his food—two turkey subs with cheese, a large salad, water and hot tea—and found a table. He sat with his back to the wall, his gun hidden comfortably within reach and his piece-of-shit car visible through the front window. It was time to focus on the here-and-now. The sheer discomfort of the too-narrow chair and table should help minimize distraction. He'd have plenty of time later, in his car, to ruminate over Steph.

Focusing on that physical discomfort for a moment, he shook out a couple ibuprofen tablets and swallowed them with a sip of water. Then he unwrapped his first sandwich and put aside half of the bread while considering the information he'd learned today on the streets. Some informants in Fall River had tipped him to the neighborhood in Mattapan that he'd visited this afternoon. And, he'd hit paydirt in two older women handing out Jehovah's Witness pamphlets who'd recognized the picture of Figueroa he'd downloaded this morning over the internet from his encrypted server.

The two women had pointed out the building where they'd seen Figueroa. They'd also mentioned that he seemed to be a night owl and that they often saw him with one or two men. They had helpfully described the men while Ranger made a show of taking some pamphlets, promising he'd read them later.

With that intel, coupled with other hints he'd gleaned throughout the day, Ranger knew where he'd be after it got dark. An evening stakeout after an afternoon of pounding the pavement. Back to the basics; there was something comforting in that.

If that didn't work out, he'd also gotten a more speculative tip regarding a meeting at a pub in Dorchester tomorrow. He pulled out his phone to look at where that was on the map. As he took a sip of water, he realized that the two twenty-somethings who had sat down at the next table had started darting glances at him, whispering to each other and giggling.

Just great, he thought, with a mental grimace. He'd managed to go to sleep last night after a marathon of whacking off, and now he was providing fantasy material to two young let's-be-friends out for an adventure. Too bad he wasn't still twenty himself. Back then, all he would've needed was a knowing glance and a few inconsequential yet provocative comments, and he'd have been looking at an early-evening threesome. An unexpectedly warm sendoff before a chilly night of surveillance.

Since his teens, he knew he was considered handsome and that he was desirable to women. And a lot of men, too, truth be told. He'd found out, early on, that he could have almost any woman he wanted, in whatever way he wanted. Which had been pretty goddamn perfect from his point of view well into his early thirties. Even the difficulty with Rachel hadn't quenched the hardness and creativity of his dick. It had just made him resolve to always use his own condoms.

However, these days, the chase and conquest had lost its luster. Oh, he sometimes still found time to indulge. And, whether he liked it or not, part of him was even now evaluating the young ladies seated next to him. The young ladies whose eating and drinking had slowed to a sensuous mime.

But he already knew he wouldn't pursue. He rarely did anymore. He wasn't in need of the high. It wasn't worth the day-after feeling that the experience had occurred to someone else. Or, that he'd given away something of himself with little to show for it.

If he was honest, it was a fairly depressing prospect. He'd probably gotten more long-term physical satisfaction from this morning's hour of stretches, push-ups, and crunches at Steph's house before he'd showered and gone out to talk with her. And, with Steph, he actually had someone whose conversation interested him. Someone whose remembered caresses still heated his dreams after all these years.

Finished with his food, he stood up from his table and picked up his tray. Time to break some hearts. So, exiting from the side opposite from his admirers, Ranger walked to the door, deposited his trash, and took his quickly cooling tea outside to his car.

Taking a sip, he shuddered slightly at the bitter, hard finish that did nothing to mitigate the paper-cup taste. As he slid behind the wheel, he resolved to get an insulated mug and some Gunpowder Green or Lung Ching tea that he could brew at Stephanie's. He'd get enough so she could brew it, too, if she came to like it.

He started the car, grimacing unconsciously at its scraping ignition, and drove a number of blocks while executing a simple evasion sequence. He was used to tailing and evading at dusk, and this crappy car had the singular benefit of semi-anonymity in traffic. Since he hadn't spotted any fleas on his way to the sub shop or upon leaving, he was quickly satisfied. He pulled into a strip-mall parking lot and took a space between two panel trucks.

He'd wait until dark to start his stakeout. Right now, he could use the time to review his list of targets. Relatively hidden from sight, he unfastened his seatbelt and unfolded some papers from the pocket on his right pants leg. He took out the small carabiner LED light that he'd found at the drug store. Turning it to illuminate the papers without making his face visible, he began to scan.

He'd reconstituted his list this morning in Steph's kitchen, using the laptop she'd made available. Adding her new information to his, it looked even more like a United Nations of suspiciously entwined people. The coincidental overlaps between targets and locations thrummed against his nerves.

And, frankly, talking with Morelli on Saturday night had ratcheted his concern about his current case to a new level. When an experienced Chief of Detectives in an urban area, with all his resources, saw the same anomalies as a gun-for-hire working the shady margins, there was truly cause for concern. Ranger grimaced to himself. Morelli might be a personal pain in his ass, but he had always been a smart cop.

So, time to focus. He needed to be strategic because he didn't have the bandwidth to pursue them all in the time before his hearing at the Boston courthouse at the end of the month. He read through the list, sifting the information in his mind.

First, there was his own target, Mateus Figueroa, originally from Brazil. With a lapsed green card, he'd left his dockside job in Galveston with no notice. He'd nabbed his sons from Puerto Rico and dragged them along as he'd traveled all the way up to Portland Maine, then down to Fall River. Now there were a few positive sightings up in Boston.

Then there was Mirko Krc from the Turkish/Armenian border. He'd been low on Ranger's list until Stephanie unearthed that he'd worked at the same Galveston dockyard as Figueroa in Texas. He'd moved right near the top of the list with Morelli's tip that Krc had been stealing cars in New Jersey and might have nabbed a heavy-duty construction vehicle as he'd escaped their dragnet.

Additionally, informants had placed someone matching Krc's description, with his lanky frame and memorable facial scar, in Figueroa's company. Admittedly the first Boston informant was an obvious substance abuser, but the ladies handing out pamphlets today had been more specific. Krc might lead Ranger to Figueroa. And, Krc was wanted in New Jersey, so Ranger could legitimately collar him, if it came to that.

So, those were the targets on whom he'd concentrate. With that in mind, he put away his notes on the remaining men whose names had surfaced during his hunt. Amadeo Djaleo from Minneapolis and Fall River was still suspicious, but Ranger didn't have any recent leads on him. The other two men—Burc Aburek and Brendan Fennelly—intersected his case but seemed more peripheral. And, again, Ranger didn't have any sightings to pursue.

He glanced briefly at the separate page where he'd drawn the various connections between the men. The overlaps seemed too specific to be coincidences. Frankly, when mapped in time they were like chessmen moving across the board, converging on checkmate. But, without knowing the "king" they were trying to capture, the information didn't help.

Ranger had pondered this earlier: Their movements had earmarks of sleeper agents being mobilized. However, they were too diverse to be the type of _jihadi _or organized crime network he was accustomed to tracing. He was going to have to keep relying on old-fashioned footwork.

Last night after Morelli's call, Ranger had left another coded message for Tino Clark, his client at the FBI. It was worrisome that Clark had been out of contact for almost two weeks. Tomorrow morning he'd update his chronology to include events that had occurred during this investigation. Tino's silence and the set-up that had snared Ranger made them both part of the pattern.

Ranger exhaled as he turned off the LED light and folded up his notes, feeling the warmth of his breath dissipate into the cold air of the car. Unless he had a breakthrough during tonight's stakeout, he was going to be spending another long morning at Steph's kitchen table, sifting through information and working the phone. With Monday being a business day, he could call some of his other FBI and Federal Marshals contacts on the pretext of networking without raising suspicion.

Putting his car into reverse, he mused that Steph's kitchen was an unexpectedly productive place to work despite the frustration of the case. Even this morning, when he'd completely been off his game, he'd felt oddly sheltered while working there. The sunlight from the window, the faint ticking of the wall clock, and the distant sound of children playing outside in the cold had faded into a comfortable backdrop as he'd become engrossed in his case.

A couple of hours had passed that way as he searched, sent emails, made a couple of calls, and pulled his notes back together. At the end of it, he'd stretched in his chair and felt oddly renewed and ready for the day. He'd looked to his right and barked out a laugh at seeing Steph's brown bear cookie jar staring at him with its shiny, painted eyes. He'd stood, pulled on his heavy sweater, and walked over.

After years of breaking into her apartment to load her gun—which he could more reliably find in the cookie jar than on her person—he couldn't help but look inside. No gun, just granola bars like the ones Steph had brought to the jail for him, partially covered by a large post-it note. He'd laughed out-loud as he'd read, "Hello Ranger, grown-up Stephanie knows that guns go in gun safes and snacks go in cookie jars. Help yourself." She'd drawn an arrow and a rectangle he imagined was a granola bar.

Taking her at her word, he'd grabbed a couple for the road and then had headed out for the day. That was hours ago, but he chuckled again at the memory. That had made his day. That and the note he'd found on his folded-up new clothes last night, telling him that Steph had removed the tags so he should wear them because now it was too late to return them. Steph still was one of the few people who could make him laugh.

Ranger pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward Mattapan for his night's stakeout. He steered the car through a rundown industrial district, the old steel cobrahead streetlights casting the road and surrounding buildings in weak yellows and shades of gray. Turning right, he entered a tired-looking residential street.

He drove past a chain link fence strewn with old bouquets, pictures, and teddy bears; clearly the makeshift memorial to a car accident or a drive-by shooting. In his job, he often got to see the worst in people. He took solace in being able to take some of them off the streets, helping to tilt the balance toward justice. A few patches of color showed through curtains in the houses and apartments he passed.

As he drove, Ranger reflected that his current life was suited to him, even if sometimes lonely. Even if he admitted that the past couple of days showed him that he missed having Stephanie in it.

He wondered how easy it would be to stay connected this time. Sardonically, he thought maybe it would be as simple as calling her. It wasn't goddamn rocket science. Though, since he was feeling like a moron at the moment for not having been in touch until now, maybe it _was _rocket science after all. Following his mood to its logical conclusion, if he ended up in the slammer for that shooting in Dorchester, he might even have visitors' hours. How convenient.

Well, he reflected wryly, he wasn't going to spend time in prison one way or the other. Reaching the building that had been pointed out to him earlier in the day, Ranger slowly circled the block with his headlights off. Finally he parked on the opposite corner, under a burned-out streetlight. He slouched down in his car and took a sip of bitter, cooling tea.

He scanned the building; he could see the fire exit, the building's front driveway, and the front sidewalk entrance from where he sat. Over half the cars parked around the building were the same as this afternoon. If he couldn't tell from the diminished foot traffic, graffiti signaled that this building was on the border of two gangs.

He sat motionless for an hour or more, watching a few older ladies dropped off by a battered church bus, a few teenagers coming and going, a young woman in fishnet stockings clutching a lightweight coat as she hurried into a car, and an obvious drug deal about a block away under the pair of sneakers dangling over a drooping phone wire.

Just another night in a rough neighborhood. Nothing notable thus far. Without consciously thinking about it, he pulled out his phone and removed one of his gloves to dial Stephanie. Surprised, he realized that his fingers had dialed her old cellphone number without conscious thought.

"Hello," he heard her answer after a couple of rings. "Is this Ranger?" The sound of television faded from the background as he heard the snick of a door in the background.

"Yeah Steph," he answered, his eyes still scanning the neighborhood though suddenly he didn't feel so alone.

"You on stakeout? You have that 'Chairman of the Bored' voice."

Ranger's lips pulled up into a small smile; after all this time she still remembered that running joke. "Yeah, I took a break earlier, but will probably be out late tonight. Wanted you to know."

"Do you need me to deliver some TastiKakes and a Sudoku book?" He heard a stifled giggle as she added, "Or maybe a heating pad and my Jets stadium blanket?" She chuckled again. "Though I don't know where the blanket is; Angie used to hide it whenever her friends came over, since they're all from here and are huge Patriots fans."

Smiling to himself in the dark, he answered, "I'm okay without the blanket, and I'm sure I'll regret turning down the heating pad in a few hours, but I'm fine." After a pause he added, "Thanks, though."

"No problem," she laughed softly again in reply, the sound warming him as much as he imagined the heating pad would have. He could still hear the humor in her voice as she asked, "So, how did your day go?"

Ranger settled back, surprised at how normal this ritual felt after so many years. He'd missed calling her in the odd breaks of surveillance. "It was good, Steph. Got the lead I'm following tonight."

"No breakthroughs yet?"

"No, but you know how it goes. You keep following leads and suddenly you get the break that opens the case. I did get a confirmed sighting of my target."

"Ranger that's great," she said, her voice breathy. Ranger knew her enthusiasm came from understanding how important confirmed sightings were. After all, she was a former bounty hunter. But, that didn't stop his own breath from hitching slightly in response to her tone. He shifted slightly in his seat as she continued in a soft voice, "Let me know if you find anything you need me to follow up for you."

"Will do Steph," he answered, realizing that his own voice had lowered. "I'll probably get in tonight after everyone is asleep. Can I call this number when you're at work?"

"Of course Ranger. You can call this number anytime." She said quietly. There was no irony in her tone, but it reminded him that she'd told him in jail that she didn't have his phone number or any contact information.

"Same here, Steph." He made a quick vow to himself he would keep this stupid clunker of a phone for an eternity—or at least its random phone number—if it meant that Steph would call him from time to time.

Her voice cut into his thoughts, "Oh, by the way Ranger, Mrs. Arshad downstairs signed for a courier package today. It's addressed to me, but I think it's really for you so I've put it under your clothes in the den. Of course I am completely non-curious and so have no idea of what's inside."

"Got it, Steph." Ranger knew his Babe—since it was addressed to her, she'd opened the package within a minute of getting into her apartment. And now she was letting him know that she didn't want to discuss the counterfeit IDs she'd found inside. Ranger's face with other names listed below. Helpful for getting to his money, but not helpful for a BPD community liaison to know about. "Exactly as I'd expect," he said gently.

"Also, Ranger, it's fine to come home whenever you do, tonight. Just park behind my car with about two yards between us and I'll be able to swing out in the morning." Her voice was soft as she added, "And I keep this phone in my room so you can call late if you need."

She was reminding him of how he used to call—or even stop by—in the middle of the night. How he sometimes just needed to talk in the gray hours before the dawn. He truly didn't deserve her kindness, but he thanked her anyway, knowing that she'd hear his heart in his voice. She always did.

Shortly after that, he'd ended the call and resumed watch. He focused on the street, but his mind kept wandering back to Steph. He had so few people to just _talk_ with these days. That was something he'd wanted to change for awhile. And talking with Steph was so much more than just talking to _someone_. It always had been, from their first meeting years ago.

It was a memory burned into his soul: he'd gone to that meeting as an unwilling favor owed to Connie and her connections. Grudgingly, he'd sat his ass in that no-name diner with his calculated _boyz-n-the-hood_ persona, figuring he'd scare the whitebread chick out of her bad-side-of-the-tracks fantasy. Of course, Stephanie being herself had just walked over, sat down, and talked with him like she'd known him for years. It had confused him, made him feel vulnerable, because he'd broken all of his rules by wanting to help her. Henry Higgins to her Eliza. Ranger to her Bombshell Bounty Hunter.

Who were they to each other, now? She said he was family. He leaned back into his car seat, turning that over in his head while he watched the limited neighborhood action in the crisp, cold night.

Another couple of hours passed as he did isometric exercises in his car seat, keeping alert and warming his muscles. At one point, out of boredom he followed an obviously inebriated older man through the buzz-entry front door and stuck a piece of electrical tape across the old-fashioned latch so he'd be able to get in again. While inside, he'd cased the hallways and stairwells, finding nothing notable though he did feel marginally warmer when he returned to his car.

A couple more hours passed and then Ranger saw a couple of men come out of the fire-exit door, their shadows moving in front of the graffiti in the feeble yellow stairwell light. One might be Figueroa's size, though in winter coats it was hard to tell. At the same time, a car rolled slowly past his other side. Moving quietly, Ranger slipped out of his car and padded into the shadows.

As the car slowed down in front of the building, he readied his stun gun for quick deployment and turned in that direction. With a view of the idling car, Ranger could see that the driver was male and seemed alone. He'd decided the driver was too small to be Figueroa at the same moment the building's front door opened and a woman stepped out by herself. Ranger pulled back into the shadows and hurried in the other direction, after the two men who'd left by the fire door.

Rounding the corner, he saw their silhouettes and heard their voices. Not English, by the rhythm, but he needed to hear the words. He moved closer as he trailed them, keeping to the shadows. Finally one of the men stopped to light a cigarette; the one built like Figueroa. Ranger realized that they were speaking an Asian language at the same time the man turned. Ranger could see his features. Filipino or Indonesian. Not Figueroa after all.

Ranger returned to his car and slid in silently. Damn, he thought, this was one of the many times on this job that he wished he'd been able to hire Hector, one of the handful of former Rangemen who still worked independently. Hector would have been perfect, both due to skills and because Ranger would know he was fully loyal and unconnected to any of the alphabet agencies. Those connections had been why he ultimately hadn't felt comfortable hiring either Manny or Zero for this job, though they also free-lanced like Hector.

Unfortunately, Hector was not exactly a free agent at the moment, since he was mid-way through serving a nickel up at Rikers for a trumped-up B&E charge. Ranger was still furious that he hadn't been able to get Hector out of that. At least, when he'd found out about it, he'd been able to cash in a couple of favors to get Bobby, Lester, and a Trenton jewelry store owner Hector had helped to appear as character witnesses, so Hector was on track for early release.

Hector just had to keep dodging any Slayers, Latin Kings, or Trinitarios in the jail who might be gunning for him. When Ranger had mentioned that on a recent visit, Hector had grinned his scariest smile and simply said, "_No problemo_." For just a moment, Ranger had felt a little pity for any would-be threats who crossed Hector's path. It was fleeting, and it was only a small amount of pity. But there it was: This was Hector. He'd smiled back at Hector's vulpine grin; the acknowledgement between predators catching each others' eyes over the waterhole.

He shrugged briefly. When this mess of a case was over, he'd look into the idea he'd been building over the past several months. Leveraging the Private Investigator's licenses he had in several states, he could accept more of the low-level surveillance jobs he was offered. That would give him a way to hire Manny, Zero, and eventually Hector. Maybe Vince, too.

They were spread out across three states at this point, but that wasn't a problem in the surveillance business. They'd have full-time work and a justified paycheck, and they could stop taking sketchy jobs to make ends meet. It wouldn't be grandiose like Rangeman; nothing with his name on the door. Just a job they did well and a regular paycheck to be proud of.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tall, hunched figure hurrying into the building. In the shadows it was hard to tell, though it could be Krc. The Jehovah's Witness ladies had described a man who sounded a lot like him: slim, tall but stooped, and with a damaged face.

Slipping out of the car again, Ranger ducked silently behind the hunched figure, following him into the building. Following up the stairs, Ranger watched while the lean man slipped through an apartment door. He finally got a glimpse of the man's profile as he closed the door and saw the ragged scar crossing his long nose and running down his cheek. Definitely Krc.

Ranger tested the door and then silently pulled out his lock pick. He heard a phone ring, followed by Krc's muffled voice. Using that distraction he began working the lock. However, at the unmistakable sound of a window being thumped open, Ranger leaned back and kicked his weight into the door twice, bolting into the apartment with wood fracturing away from around the doorlock.

Ranger raced to the window and pushed the billowing curtains out of the way. One hand on the window frame for balance, he started to follow out the window. But then he saw that his partial weight on the fire escape was pulling a rusted bolt away from the outside wall, with a second already loose. A metallic clang on the ground followed, and Ranger looked down.

Krc had obviously slid down the stair railings on his hands, submarine style. He was about to drop to the ground near an alley where Ranger would likely lose him. Ranger reached reflexively for the gun in his waistband and, for a split second, set up to shoot Krc in one of his feet. Then he remembered he wasn't an Army Ranger hunting enemy combatants. Nor was he on a sanctioned 'stop-at-all-costs' hunt for one of the alphabet agencies. He didn't even have skip-trace paperwork for Krc, let alone a reason to shoot him with an unlicensed gun in an urban neighborhood.

Swearing to himself, Ranger pulled back and took stock of the apartment. First things first, he went to the apartment door; nobody was in the hall yet so he swept away the wood splinters and pulled the door closed. He looked around. No computer, no TV, no phone. But, plenty of papers scattered on tables and chairs. He switched his outdoor gloves for a set of medical gloves he'd picked up at the drug store.

He found an empty trash bag in the kitchenette, shoved the papers into it, and then started going through drawers. He pulled out a couple of IDs—one was obviously Figueroa—and some travel documents, along with hand-written notes. He added that to the bag. He dumped the contents from a McDonald's bag and wadded the contents of a small shredder into it. Hearing sounds in the hall, he quickly unbuttoned his coat, stuffed the bags under his shirt, and then re-buttoned his coat. As soon as the voices passed to the elevator, Ranger slipped out of the apartment and into the stairwell at the other end of the hall.

He opened the outer door carefully, slipping immediately into the shadows behind the building. Snow had started to fall; enough for footprints to leave tracks. He skirted the street lights and found the alley where Krc had gone. Creeping down the darkened path, he searched for any obvious exits or hiding places. However, at the other end, he could see footprints that ended where someone—probably Krc—had gotten into the passenger side of a car and left the scene. Having found little else of interest, he circled back to his car.

Soft speckles of icy white snow flickered slowly under the battered street lights. Enough had already fallen to obscure some of the obvious litter and broken bottles and envelop the neighborhood in a strange moment of quiet. Ranger slipped into the car, the metallic squawk of the car door echoing down the silent street.

He started the car and turned on the windshield wipers to clear the dusting of snow off the window. He started the fan to clear fog from the inside of the windows and reached over for a few paper towels to speed the process. Only a few hours from dawn, it was time to head home. Well, he corrected himself, he was headed back toward Steph's place. Regardless, he was going back to a comfortable bed in a warm room.

Thanks, Steph, he thought to himself as he got far enough away to turn on his headlights without being spotted. Still exhausted and sore, he realized that it did feel like he was on the path headed home, after all.

_To be continued..._


	11. Ch11: Weaving Together

_Publishing a bit early this week to get ahead of the oncoming wave of family visitors. Once again, I thank you all for your interest in this story and thanks to jbspenser06 __for her generous assistance__. _

_Special thanks to the reader who pointed out a mistake in Chapter 10. I had meant that Ranger had spoken to some nice ladies from the Jehovah's Witnesses, but I identified the wrong church in the original posting. Sorry for any confusion… I plead "not enough sleep." By the way, this is just one of the many ways that publishing in the Fanfiction world is a gift: readers actively help writers, and writers can readily make updates as soon as issues are brought to light. I feel so lucky to have found this medium and such great participants in my story._

_As always, I don't own these characters; nor do I make any profit. If you recognize them, they belong to JE. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be mistakes and (as always) those are all mine._

* * *

**Chapter 11: Weaving Together**

Stephanie took one hand off the steering wheel to turn up the volume on the radio as she watched the traffic light turn to red ahead of her. Humming along to "Manic Monday" she reflected that, on this particular Monday, mid-morning traffic in the city was the opposite of manic. Well, maybe the people were manic but the cars certainly weren't. She could see cars inching along for blocks ahead of her. Everyone was back to work, back to errands, back to grumpy.

And today they'd also apparently forgotten how to drive. Last night's snow had become a slushy rainstorm that had spawned an epidemic of fender benders well into the mid-morning. At least the rain had ended and the temperature was climbing into the high 40s, which was more typical for this time in November. They'd all be spared the start of New England weather—and New England heating oil bills—for a few more weeks.

As she watched the light ahead of her turn red, Stephanie relaxed. She wasn't expected back at the precinct until noon. Since the Veterans Center and Shelter Task Force meeting at the Huntington YMCA had ended early, she had almost an hour. That meant she should be able to make a little side trip, even with the backed up traffic.

She started singing along with the radio. She just felt like singing, like flying, like dancing in-place in her car. And she recalled for about the fiftieth time already this morning why the entire day felt different than usual: Ranger was here.

It was breathtaking and strange, almost like she was dreaming. But she'd had enough dreams of Ranger to know this was different. It was more like a memory had materialized like an angel tumbling from the heavens into the middle of her world—like a Ferris wheel suddenly planted in her backyard—and her normal life was shrugging and fitting itself around his presence.

This morning, for example, was just another day of adapting their well-known Grandpa Plum Breakfast Protocol, as Mary Alice termed it, to keep from waking Ranger. She chuckled briefly, remembering Lisa's confusion that Ranger had stayed out until nearly dawn. Mary Alice had deadpanned that it was because Ranger was out chasing bad guys, and it was well known that bad guys stayed out way after bedtime and never brushed their teeth.

Knowing there was no way to bypass Sarah's ever-observant gaze, Stephanie had lightly kicked Mary Alice under the table while she told Lisa that Mary Alice was joking. Then, to Lisa's obvious relief, Stephanie assured her that Mary Alice had been partly right. Ranger was indeed one of the good guys and he'd stayed out late because he was trying to capture some very bad people.

And that, yes, Ranger also was well known to brush his teeth.

She laughed out loud. She could see so much of Albert in Lisa, and so much of Val in Angie. And, frankly, a lot of herself in Mary Alice and Sarah. Yet she continued to marvel at how each of them was their own distinct person. Sometimes it felt like an impossible balancing act, and sometimes she wondered where she got the energy. But whenever she felt stressed, she'd remember mornings like today.

And she'd remember Mary Lou telling her that the secret to parenthood was a mixture of love, paying attention, and remembering to be the adult when needed. And she'd think of Lula taking her hand in the dark days in Trenton, assuring Stephanie that it was in her nature to show people the path to their better selves. That she should focus on being the best Stephanie Plum she could be and that the girls would figure out from her example what they needed for themselves.

She kept her fingers crossed that it was all true. Or, if it was really all dumb luck like she'd overheard a couple of women claim at a recent neighborhood outreach session, she'd take that, too.

Stuck behind another red light, Stephanie stretched in her seat, fighting a yawn. Well, it had already been a long day. She'd woken in the gray hours between true night and dawn, surprised to hear Ranger coming in. Her surprise wasn't that he'd been out so late, but that she'd actually heard a couple of footsteps as he made his way through the apartment and then down the hall to the den to sleep.

It was probably because she knew the old house and the sounds of everyone's footsteps on the stairs at night. And also because she had developed a second sense for where the girls were at night. But, it did make her wonder exactly why she'd rarely woken up back in Trenton when he slipped into her apartment and then left before morning.

Regardless of what had happened in the past, though, waking up this morning—knowing it was Ranger—had left her with the oddest mixture of feeling right and feeling confused.

Thinking about Ranger, she wondered how he was doing today. She hadn't seen him yet, but remembering how Ranger never seemed to need more than a few hours of sleep, Stephanie picked up her hands-free headset and phone from the passenger seat. With a quick glance she found Ranger's cellphone number in the recent incoming list and pressed 'call.'

"Yo," he answered on the first ring, while Stephanie was still putting in the hands-free earpiece.

"Yo yourself."

"Hey Steph, you at work?"

"No, on the road back to the precinct. I just thought I'd call to see how things are going."

"Still in your kitchen. I was just getting ready to follow up some leads I found last night."

"Oh good. Sounds like you must have had a productive stakeout."

"It was mixed," Ranger paused. "I spotted Krc and followed him to what looks like a safe house where Figueroa and a couple other people had stashed some documents. The bad news is that I doubt that either of them will go back there now, so I'm still on the hunt. The good news is that these guys never heard of safes and they're too cheap to buy a shredder that really works, so I've pieced together a bunch of notes and papers. That's what I was going through this morning."

"Find anything good?"

"The usual random receipts for things like Big Macs and Happy Meals, deodorant, pliers, and lapdances. Not necessarily in that order," he added with dark amusement. Stephanie snorted while Ranger continued, "I did, though, snare counterfeit passports for Figueroa and Krc, along with the makings of a fake New York driver's license with a photo that looks like Burc Aburek. That's the first physical evidence that actually ties those three together."

"Wow, that's something. What do you think it means?"

"Don't know yet. I don't have enough information that tells me _why _they're linked." She heard the sound of water running briefly in the sink and then the clink of dishes. "I pieced together part of a rental car receipt that listed an address in another part of Mattapan that I'm going to check out today. I have a couple of other places to check-out based on other tips. Then, there's possibly a meeting in a pub tonight that I might want to investigate. I'll keep you posted."

"Okay, let me know if you need anything," Stephanie said as she turned her car left at the intersection. She briefly nibbled her lower lip and then asked, "How about you! Ranger? Are you doing okay?"

The phone was quiet for a moment and then Ranger added quietly, "Yeah Steph. I'm doing much better than a couple of days ago. Thanks."

Stephanie smiled. "I'm glad," she said simply. After a comfortable silence that also spoke to her as loud as words, Stephanie remembered something. "Ranger, before I forget... I asked Mrs. Arshad downstairs to sign for any packages that come for either me or you today. I told her you're my friend who's here on a business trip, so she'll be fine if you knock on her door. She's the soul of discretion and never opens other peoples' mail."

"Thanks Steph," he answered. There were more shuffling sounds and then he said in an offhand tone, "By the way, I fixed the fourth slot on your toaster."

After a brief pause to replay his words in her head, Stephanie giggled. "Wow, Ranger. Thanks. Um… that's been out of commission for a couple of months." She hit herself on the forehead, hoping to reactivate the "remember to say smart things" part of her brain.

"It was just mechanical. Good as new, now."

She looked left, then right to make sure she was awake. Seemed likely. "Well, okay then." As the silence on the line stretched she heard herself babble, "Gee, if you get bored while you're here, I have a list of other kinda annoying things I need to fix."

"No promises, Steph. But if you leave the list out with a toolbox, I'll look into them if I have the time."

She felt her mouth open in astonishment. "Jeez Ranger, I was just kidding. When I said you should make yourself at home, I didn't mean that you had to become Mr. Fixit."

"No problem. Sometimes it helps me to work with my hands while I'm thinking. I do it all the time at home."

She could hear more rustling in the background; Ranger was probably pulling his stuff together for the day. "Okay, I'll think about it," she replied vaguely, her attention distracted by the image of Ranger surrounded by toaster parts in her kitchen, screwdriver in hand. Images of his strong hands...

Pulling herself together, she cleared her throat. "Okay Ranger, I know you need to head out so I won't keep you. Just… well, don't get shot."

"Babe," she heard him chuckle. "Don't go crazy."

"Might be too late for that," she answered even as she heard the heavy quiet on the phone that meant Ranger had already ended the call. She shook her head and snorted.

Darned Ranger phone manners. She looked up at the clock and then at the road. She had time for one more call if she kept it quick. She looked down briefly and selected a number she knew by heart.

"Hey Steph," Mary Lou answered after only one ring, "What's shakin', Bacon?"

Stephanie laughed. "What's the deal, Banana Peel?"

"Well the biggest news here is that I'm going with Lenny's sisters on Wednesday for an all day, shop-'til-you-drop outing to the Quaker Bridge Mall on Wednesday. With chair massages! It's not even Thanksgiving on the calendar but it's Retail Christmas already, baby. Hold me back." Over Stephanie's laughter she added, "Let me know if there's anything you want me to get. If I find it on sale I can stash it here until you guys come in December."

"I'll have to think seriously about that. You are the holiday sale champion. And with Angie in college and Mary Alice on the verge, I could use the help. But hey, I'm in my car and only have a few minutes so let me lay my news on you, and I'll let you know about shopping tomorrow."

"Hit me."

"Okay, so guess which dark, mysterious, and _missing_ person showed up here in Boston this weekend and is in my house at this very moment. Let me stress _mysterious_ and _missing_ again."

"Holy cats, Steph! Is Ranger there?" Mary Lou's voice ended up, in a squeak.

"Mmm hmm," Stephanie answered, her wry smile echoed in her voice.

"Wow! So, I gotta know, did he have an Academy Award winning excuse? Or did you drop a bag of kitchen garbage on his head like I did to Lenny back when we were dating, when he left town for a week with no notice for Barry Janov's bachelor party? Did you tell him he was a total ass-hat for disappearing for so long?"

"No," Stephanie forced out over her laughter. "Ranger isn't exactly the kind of guy you trash-bag or ass-hat unless you're okay with maybe waking up in the Third World somewhere." She paused to wipe away her tears of laughter from under her eyes. "Well, actually, Ranger would never do that to me. If he was going to, probably it would've been when my skip grabbed my gun and shot Ranger in the thigh when he was first teaching me to bounty hunt."

Hearing Mary Lou giggling on the other end of the phone, Stephanie added, "I confess, though, that the trash-bag-on-the-head image is excellent. I'm going to have a hard time keeping a straight face the next time I see Ranger."

Through her own laughter, Mary Lou exclaimed, "But seriously, Steph. Is he like a locust that just woke up after seven years? What gives?"

"I don't know the full story yet. But... even though he's never been a normal person, he always had really good reasons for what he did." She paused for a moment, thinking about what she'd just said. "Well, even if he was seriously communication-challenged, sometimes."

"Yeah, and…?"

"Yeah, I know. Me too," Stephanie answered as she turned onto a side street near Mission Hill. "I talk a lot without saying what's on my mind. I know this about myself now. But Ranger, he doesn't say much at all. So when he says something important, it's _real. _And it stands out." More quietly, she added, "He told me he loved me more than once. There were always conditions when he said it. But he did." She sighed. "I don't know if I ever said it to him."

"Oh, Steph…" Mary Lou's compassion reached out across the phone from Trenton.

"So that's another reason why I won't garbage-bag on sight," Stephanie continued, not wanting to lose her train of thought. "But Mary Lou, it's even more than that. I don't know why he disappeared, but it wasn't just me. Ranger sold his company and left Trenton. Between what Joe and Lula tell me, I think he just dropped out of everyone's life for awhile." Distracted for a moment as she spotted a parking spot, she mumbled, "If I'd still been living in Trenton on my own, I probably would've gone looking for Ranger after a few months of his disappearance from Trenton."

Shaking her head as she angled her car into the space between two other cars, she asserted, "Oh, who am I kidding? I would have been like a bloodhound until I found him. Then I probably would have yelled at him for over an hour, doing my whole arm p-windmill thing that I never knew I did until I saw Angie doing it to me."

Stephanie took a quick breath and continued, "Meanwhile Ranger would've watched me the whole time with his eyebrow raised, and then would've just said, 'Babe.' After that I would've stormed off. So, really it's probably best that I just imagine all that happening, without actually ever having done it, and skip the associated angst."

She heard Mary Lou's soft laugh. "But, honey," Mary Lou said gently, "I know how much it hurt you when he left, and then he came back and you didn't hear from him. Are you _sure_ it's okay that he's there?"

"Yeah, I think so," Stephanie answered slowly, trying to marshal her thoughts as she turned off the car and sat back in the seat, listening to the wet plop of slushy rain on her windshield. "I mean… at his core, he's a truly good man. He always put himself on the line to do what's right. Or, actually, to make sure that the best 'right thing' happens, even if he has to hurt himself to do that. And he used everything at his disposal and risked his life for me more than once."

Stephanie stopped for another deep breath. "He doesn't talk, but he _acts_." She sat up, "You know, I realize right now while we're talking that the problem was that he just _left._ I mean he acted—without talking. He did what he had to do without saying anything. In a way, he was Ranger being himself."

"But Steph, that still doesn't make it right that he hurt you."

"I know. And I know I should be angry at him, but that's not what I feel." She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. "Mary Lou, I think there's a difference between someone intentionally hurting you versus when you get hurt by accident because they do something they _need_ to do. And, I'm guessing he really needed to drop out of sight for awhile." She shook her head, "That doesn't mean he was smart about how he did it, but that's different."

Stephanie knew that Mary Lou could hear the smile in her voice as she added, "In any case, having him here is just… nice. I've missed him. Even if he's sometimes strong but silent about the wrong things." She tilted her head, "At least this time around I'm not afraid of my own feelings. Not as much as before. And, I get another chance to be friends with Ranger." Her smile took on a slightly mischievous tilt. "And to maybe tell him I love him in _my _own way."

"Oh sweetie, I know you've missed him," Mary Lou answered quietly. Then her voice took on the hard yet humorous edge that Stephanie remembered from years of girlfriend talks. "But Steph, if he flips out on you again, I'm catching the next Amtrak up there and I'll help you with garbage bags. We'll get the kind that rip really easily and drop a couple of week's worth of trash on his head."

Stephanie laughed. "Mary Lou, you know you're my best friend, right? This is only one of the many reasons why."

"And don't you forget it!"

With that, Stephanie wrapped up the call, feeling ready for anything. She felt a fleeting wish that she could go join Ranger on his stakeout. But instead she got out of her car and dashed through the cold rain to her friend Wilfredo's pawn shop.

"_Hola _'Fredo," she called out her Spanish 101 greeting as she opened the heavy, barred door to his shop. "_Como estás_?" She smiled as she saw her friend's coal-dark eyes. She knew that a buzzer had sounded when she'd stepped up to the door and that a closed-circuit camera had shown her face on the monitor beside the cash register. Wilfredo always knew what was happening in and around his shop.

"_Hola Ciruela_," he answered, using the Spanish word for "Plum" as her name in their own private joke. Before he'd known her name, he'd taken her aside and told her that her colleagues were disrespecting her by calling her a plum. With a fierce, blank face that would have rivaled Ranger's, he'd said they might as well be calling her a peach or a cherry to be plucked, and he didn't think she should stand for it.

She was never sure how she'd triggered such a protective response in this hard man she'd barely known at the time. That moment, and his chagrined laughter when he realized that _Plum _was truly her name, had been the start of their friendship. Having his trust—and his visible support in a couple of tense community meetings—had given her instant 'street cred' with a few of the neighborhood activists. Which had helped her reinvigorate the Neighborhood Watch in the area.

Her favorite moment, though, was when he'd invited her to his grandmother's 75th birthday party a few years ago. Stephanie still couldn't speak much Spanish, but her moans over the family recipes of _asopao _chicken gumbo, roast plantain, and flan had been all the words they'd needed. And the dancing in the blocked-off street had transcended language. She'd saved the picture Wilfredo had emailed of his youngest brother teaching her to salsa while she held her sandals in her hand.

Wilfredo broke into her reverie. With a speculative glance and lightly ironic voice, he said in thickly accented English, "You know, a friend of yours stopped by the other day to shop. He dropped your name and bought some interesting toys."

As Stephanie unzipped her heavy and somewhat damp coat, Wilfredo's gaze shifted subtly to Christophe behind the far counter, then back to her. If his vague language weren't enough, Stephanie knew Wilfredo was reminding her to be discreet in front of his young employee.

Stephanie smiled at Wilfredo's concern, then chuckled as her imagination caught up with Wilfredo's comment about Ranger buying toys. She suddenly pictured Wilfredo and Ranger sitting on the floor playing with Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots. She giggled briefly, "Yeah 'Fredo, your store is like Christmas-time. My friend bought everything he needed for under the tree." She glanced over at Christophe; yup, definitely listening.

Nosy herself, she couldn't entirely blame him. But, Christophe didn't need to know that she had a friend out on bail who had just been in the store and bought weapons under-the-counter from Wilfredo.

"Anyway 'Fredo, thanks for helping out my friend, but that's not why I stopped by today. I was wondering if your grandma is here, and maybe your sister Daniela too. I'm looking for someone to help with a girl who's in a group home at the moment."

Wilfredo nodded and told Christophe to remain out front, pressed something under the counter, and then led Stephanie through the door into the private area of the building. He closed the metal door behind him, locking it with a key that he pulled from his boot. It looked like a normal lock, but Stephanie heard the slightly asynchronous sound of more than three deadbolts thrust into place.

As he led her down the short hallway, Wilfredo commented, "He's a good boy, Christophe." He waved his arm with the key back toward the door. "I'm glad you convinced me to hire him; he works hard. And he's brought new customers like you said, since he can talk that Haitian _kreyol_ that I don't speak." He looked at her, his eyes quiet. "It's just that he's a young man, and that means he is sometimes foolish."

"I understand 'Fredo. He's someone who can learn, though." In fact, that had been one of the reasons she'd pushed Wilfredo to hire the young Haitian. It gave the boy broader experience than he'd gotten in his own neighborhood, along with a good male role model. And a job, since lack of money seemed to be why Christophe had been caught shoplifting so many times. It wasn't easy being the man of the family at 16, trying to keep his three siblings off the streets.

Stephanie looked over at Wilfredo's guarded expression and reached out to touch his arm, feeling his well-defined muscles under his thermal long-sleeved T-shirt. "But, I do understand your caution and I get what you're trying to tell me," she added, wanting to reassure Wilfredo that she valued his advice.

The sounds of a _telenovela_ echoed in the hallway. No matter the language, she'd discovered that soap operas all soundedthe same. Even the Pakistani ones that Mrs. Arshad got from her cousin on home-recorded DVDs. She considered how the world was united daily by the shared midday ritual of over-dramatic dialog, ridiculous outfits, accidental affairs with relatives, intentional affairs that were really stupid, and loud advertisements for useless household products.

She didn't think she'd said any of that out loud, though Wilfredo had an unusually broad smirk on his face as he stopped by the first doorway in the hall. Before entering, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. "Abuelita," he called out over the sound of the TV. "_La Ciruelita está aquí pa' hablar contigo_," Wilfredo let his grandmother know that Stephanie was there to talk with her.

He then backed up and let Stephanie through the door. Nothing much had changed back here since the last time she'd visited. The large sitting room was homey, with bright floral slipcovers on the old sofa and recliner and a battered coffee table covered in magazines and catalogs. A closed circuit monitor was perched on a bookcase, with four views of the pawn shop out front.

And, of course, the TV was front and center; the one reasonably new item in the room. As Stephanie entered, Wilfredo's aunt and one of his sisters glanced over, nodded hello, and then returned their attention to the screen. The small older woman sitting on the sofa, though, swung toward the door with a smile creasing her dark brown face. She patted the sofa next to her. "Estefanie_, venga aquí_, _siéntate conmigo_."

Stephanie had learned enough Spanish to know that the old woman was inviting her to come and sit with her. She reached out to Wilfredo and touched his arm again. "Can you please tell your abuela that I'm just here on a break from work and I can't stay long? I don't want her to think I'm being rude."

He nodded and said something in rapid Spanish, to which his grandmother replied equally quickly, her deep espresso-colored eyes flashing. She pointed a bony finger back at her grandson and Stephanie was amused to see muscular, tattooed Wilfredo suddenly look like a hapless boy under the onslaught of his grandmother's instructions. After several back-and-forth exchanges and matching hand gestures, he tossed his head and then finally barked out a laugh.

"Okay, my abuelita says you're like me, with all work and no gossip. This is apparently a bad thing, and she assures me that my _novia_ Graciela will explain this to me this evening." As he glanced at Stephanie she saw the purse in his lips that hid a smile. "Abuelita says you can sit down and my sister Mayra will translate, and bring you back out when you're done. Meanwhile, whether you like it or not, I'm ordered to give you a container of today's rice-and-beans with _tostones_ when you leave, since you apparently should eat more food _de la puebla_."

Mayra looked up, flipping her long and wavy black hair back with her hand. "_Hermano_," she chastened, spearing her brother with eyes as deep brown as her grandmother's. "Abuelitasaid that Stephanie should have more _sabor latino _in her life, more Latin flavor. She did not say she should eat more food." She looked at Stephanie with amused exasperation. "Men, they are so literal it's painful sometimes."

Wilfredo looked upward and said something in Spanish that sounded like "God give me patience with perfect sisters."

Putting up her hands in a playful palms-up gesture, Stephanie looked over and said, "Hey, Wilfredo, my sister Val was 'perfect' too. I've got some great stories; we can commiserate sometime."

Wilfredo puffed out a wry laugh as he backed out of the door, "_Está bien_. I'll see you when you're ready to leave, with that dish of _sabor latino_ that you apparently need in a non-literal manner."

Stephanie laughed along with Mayra and Wilfredo's aunt, who'd been listening-in from a wing chair on the far side of the sofa. Looking between the three women, she could see the family resemblance in their intelligent dark eyes under straight eyebrows and the ironic twist to their lips. She could imagine family pictures going back in history; women and men all looking at the camera with Wilfredo's fierce and forthright honesty.

Stephanie hung up her coat on the old-fashioned coat rack near the door, glad that it wasn't wet enough to drip on the floor. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, feeling the springs sag under her with a groan. The sofa was clearly as, well, _vintage _as the dented Mr. Coffee and the industrial-sized microwave that sat on a table in the back of the room.

Feeling a gentle brush against her hand, Stephanie turned slightly to face both Mayra and her grandmother. In bursts that Mayra translated, Stephanie asked for foster help on behalf of the teenager her friend in the Department of Youth Services had mentioned in a quick call this morning. The girl had been put in a group home after her family threw her out for having the evil eye. But now she was starting to get into fights.

Even though it wasn't really police business, Stephanie was hoping to find a sympathetic situation for her. In the back of her mind, Stephanie pictured the poor girl as a young Grandma Bella Morelli in the making, needing someone to teach her how to play nice with others. Something Grandma Bella apparently never had learned, Stephanie thought with a moment of remembered irritation.

Mayra snapped Stephanie from her momentary introspection, confirming that her sister Daniela was still registered to take foster children. With the sharp look of a hawk, Wilfredo's abuela grabbed Stephanie's wrist and looked her in the eyes. As Mayra translated she assured Stephanie that they'd find a way to help the girl. Stephanie understood as the old woman told Mayra to have Daniela call Stephanie for more details and phone numbers.

As Mayra started tapping on her phone, presumably texting her sister Daniela, the old woman turned her deep gaze back to Stephanie. Still holding Stephanie's wrist in her small bony hand, Wilfredo's abuela said in a fierce whisper, "_Mira m'ija, hay algo que debo dicirte. Pa' que tú entiendes con todo tu corazón_."

Stephanie looked at Mayra, not sure what the old woman had just said, though she'd understood _corazón_—heart—that staple in Spanish love songs on the radio. Mayra started translating again. With a bit of embarrassment on her face, she said, "Abuela says she has something she has to tell you. That you need to understand it completely, with all your heart."

The old lady continued looking deep into Stephanie's eyes while she spoke, as though she'd transfer her words directly into her mind if she could. Mayra translated, "She says that your friend who visited, that his soul is a protected place… like in a fortress. She says that he fights like a warrior to keep it right, though it is not possible to protect everything through battle and... I think the English word is _siege_." She paused while the old woman spoke again.

Mayra touched Stephanie's shoulder to catch her gaze. "Abuelita calls you 'my daughter' or 'my child.' This means you're supposed to listen to her like your own grandmother. She also is being a bit mystical. But, she says that this man… that he lights up from within when he hears your name. You clarify or… _show _the way for his soul."

Listening again, Mayra paused. "She says that such a fierce soul will only follow if he knows you will not go from side-to-side." Mayra frowned. "I think she means that he would back off if you seem to go back-and-forth in your loyalty."

The old woman nodded and briefly pinched Stephanie's wrist with her blunt nails as she spoke again and Mayra translated, "Okay, she's being all mystical again, so you are supposed to listen with your heart. She says that a warrior will not invite an uncertain ally behind the fortress walls. And that is what Abuela says you need to hear."

Stephanie stared at Mayra's earnest expression. Then she looked back at the old woman, whose worn brown hand still encircled her wrist firmly yet gently. In her piercing eyes, Stephanie saw compassion. The old woman's other hand came up and softly cupped Stephanie's cheek. "_Ya entiendes todo lo que necesitas saber._"

Without needing Mayra to translate, Stephanie knew she'd been told that she already understood everything she needed to know. Mayra hadn't been kidding that her grandma was being a bit mystical.

"_Hasta luego, m'ija_" the old woman finally said in farewell, a small, closed-mouth smile on her face as she pulled her hands into her lap and turned her attention back to the TV.

"_Gracias Abuela_," Stephanie managed to answer in her basic Spanish as she rose. Nodding at Mayra's indulgent smile, Stephanie shrugged on her coat and purse. Mayra led her from the warm room, back out to the shop. Wilfredo left Christophe to talk with the man on the other side of the shop who was negotiating the price of a slightly dented saxophone. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a plastic bag that he shoved into Stephanie's hands as though it were radioactive.

As Mayra laughed, Stephanie looked inside at a large Tupperware container of rice and beans and a foil bundle that was probably the fried plantains, or _tostones_. She had a sneaking suspicion that the faded Tupperware container had been empty on one of Wilfredo's shop shelves when she'd arrived earlier. Regardless, it smelled heavenly and she couldn't help but moan.

"_Ay mujer_," Wilfredo said, pushing her toward the door. As she turned and said goodbye, he raised an eyebrow and wished her a good yet literal lunch. Stephanie heard Mayra's full throated laugh again as she headed back outside. She dashed to where her car was parked and shoved the bag onto the passenger seat as she bolted into the driver's seat, closing the door against the cold drizzle.

She drove back to the precinct in a daze. It almost felt like she'd spent an afternoon in her old friend Mooner's suspiciously smoky livingroom. Yet she knew her daze was mental, not physical. Abuela's imagery wouldn't leave her; seeing Ranger as a warrior was easy. She'd always seen him that way. But now, she pictured him alone in a battered fortress, watching for her allegiance. Her heart ached at the thought.

The image of him observing her Saturday night at dinner came unbidden to her mind. Viewing her calmly, eyes attentive yet guarded, evaluating quietly. The way he'd often done back in Trenton, an amused yet distant look in his eyes.

And it hit her. Surveillance. He watched and listened better than anyone she knew. He made theories based on what he _knew_. Where Stephanie acted on instinct, Ranger acted on information and patterns. She'd worked for the past few years with a former profiler, so she finally understood.

So, what did he know about Stephanie? That she had faith in him. That she offered her home to him. That she cared about him…. But also that she'd always tended to misdirect with her conversation, as she'd admitted to Mary Lou.

And then she remembered the other part of Saturday evening; his stiff wariness of Darius and his closed reaction to hearing Joe's voice. Another revelation: Maybe he saw her easy friendships with men as meaning they were interchangeable in her heart. Especially after years of dating Joe while falling for Ranger's heated seductions. Probably she confused him.

Maybe he was a warrior wondering about her allegiance.

A tap on her car window startled her. "Yikes," she shouted as she realized that she'd arrived at work and was still sitting in the parking lot. Her cube neighbor Janice was standing outside her car door, umbrella in hand.

"Hey Steph, you okay?" Janice asked, concern on her face.

Stephanie opened her car door and stepped out, grabbing her purse and her bag of food. "Yeah, thanks Jan. Was just thinking about a couple of things. But I'm good." Idly, Stephanie mused that Janice always looked like the country club receptionist that she'd been before the last economic downturn brought her to her current job with the BPD. Meanwhile Stephanie was sure she looked like soggy squirrels had built a nest in her hair.

Janice shifted the umbrella so it covered them both. "Let me walk you to the door so you don't get sopping," Janice said as though Stephanie had the option to refuse. Smiling ruefully, Stephanie nodded and they walked briskly to the precinct building's back door. After which, Janice waved goodbye and headed back on her way to lunch at Subway.

Stephanie took a deep breath and badged herself into the building. Inside, she stopped for a moment and focused on the practical. She considered that the bag of food she was clutching was enough for at least three lunches; maybe four if she stretched it. She tried to remember if she still had a 10% off coupon for soda at the 7-11. She tried to visualize if she had an umbrella in her cube, or whether she could borrow Janice's later.

Finally feeling centered in the here-and-now, she walked down the hall toward the kitchenette until she heard her boss calling her name.

"Hey Ryan," Stephanie said as she leaned in his door. "You bellowed?"

"Yeah," he answered, standing up from his desk and picking up his jacket from a filing cabinet. "Come in for a second, Plum. I gotta head out for that frickin' press conference this afternoon, but wanted to check if you got everything you need for that Veterans' shelter thing for the mayor's office." Generations of Boston Irish in his family shaped his speech, turning his "r"s into "ah"s. Stephanie still found it funny that he looked like Denis Leary and sounded like he'd just stepped out of "The Heat" or "Good Will Hunting."

Ryan looked over as he put on his jacket and ran his hand through his mop of red hair in a hopeless attempt to make it lay straight.

Realizing that he was waiting for an answer, Stephanie replied, "Yeah, all set. I'll brief you on the meeting tomorrow if you're in."

"Okay, sounds good." His jacket half buttoned, Ryan leaned his hip back on his desk while he took a sip from a can of Dr. Pepper and gazed at her over the rim. "So Plum," he said casually as he shook the can and then tossed it in the recycling bucket in the corner. "I saw some paperwork from this weekend that says you maybe have an interesting house guest," his brows raised slightly. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, thanks for checking," Stephanie nodded. "Ranger—I mean Ricardo Mañoso—is someone I know from back in Jersey." Stephanie knew it was standard procedure to earmark when BPD members bailed someone out or accepted custody. She'd bailed out a couple of kids in the past, and was familiar with the forms that Ryan had found on his desk this morning.

She also knew that Ranger wouldn't look like one of her ordinary "reclamation projects."

"Well, you know I trust you," Ryan replied slowly, "but you also know I have to keep tabs, given the nature of the charges against him. So, keep me posted if there's anything I should hear about first." His eyes gazed at her while he perched, leaving space for her to speak.

After a moment she nodded, "Of course." He nodded and rolled his hand, gesturing for her to continue. She felt the mantle of Ranger descend on her shoulders; the weight of walking a straight line through a morally muddied world. Yet she owed her boss, her friend, the best answer she could provide.

She looked him in the eye. "Ryan, I know the charges against Ranger are serious. But, they feel like a set-up to me." He nodded again, his deep eyes a contrast to his boyish russet hair. She continued in a measured voice, "I can't prove it, and won't do anything to jeopardize the investigation," she hurried to add. "But he's my friend and I'll support him the best I can." As he tilted his head, she asserted, "You know, the way I do for everyone I help." She kept eye contact, as he continued to watch her.

The corner of his lip finally twitched into a knowing smile. "If anyone can help him—keeping within the letter of the law, I feel compelled to add—it's you." Ryan said with a speculative look. Then he nodded as though he'd made a decision as he pushed off from his desk. Ryan patted her shoulder as he stepped through his office door on his way out, fastening the final buttons on his jacket as he went.

She watched him head out, then continued down the hallway with a stop to shove her container of rice and beans in the refrigerator. Ending up in the open room where her cube was located she shrugged her purse off her shoulder and hung up her damp coat.

As she sat down, Stephanie gazed at the work-themed photos tacked to her cube wall. Her eyes were drawn to the faded picture from a distraction back in Trenton; it was as though she was seeing it for the first time. She was standing in Ranger's arms, gazing into his face while he leaned against his car. His eyes focused completely on her; his expression was amused, indulgent, and fierce. Had she been looking directly into his eyes yet not seeing him at all?

How could she let him know who she was, without confusion? She took in a deep breath and felt her shoulders straighten: Time to start trying.

_To be continued..._


End file.
